And I thought Dr Chase was addicted to puzzles
by SlaveToLiterature
Summary: House is still angry with Chase for talking to Vogler. Chase might have had different reasons for it than the famous doctor thinks. Rated M so no kiddos. Don't say I didn't warn you. I would be delighted if you would read and perhaps even review . Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

**Very like all other amazing (and less amazing) authors that linger on this site (go FanFiction) I should start off with this disclaimer thing. So: If I were the owner of House (which I am not) the total number of fanfictions concerning it would probably be somewhere around zero. Luckily for you, I don't own House, so don't sue or I'll ehm... Well, just don't sue. Please *Does puppydog eyes***

**Second of all, I would like to tell you that I'm not a native speaker. I try my best but some mistakes will occur eventually, I would be glad if you pointed the errors I made out, so I can change them. Thank you.**

**And finally, once again, WARNINGS for mature themes (No slash though) If you don't like it, don't read it.**

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**Prologue,**

Chase bit his lip very hard in order not to give it away whilst he was moving towards his most favourite place in the hospital: the roof, as fast as his shaking body would take him. He evaded the nurses, whose names he did not remember and who all seemed in for the touchy-feely approach. Or at least, they were as long as it was "that poor, handsome doctor Chase" that was the object to be touched and felt. He doubted if they would care if it were "the famous doctor Gregory House" running past their offices and workspaces, clearly looking very distressed.

His legs were aching and trembling like mad as he pushed the limbs to their limits, trying desperately to escape the damp, sterile hospital smell and settle for some cold, fresh air in his lungs. He really needed to feel that cold.

Chase turned a sharp right and ran about a hundred meters through a deserted corridor before turning left onto the flight of stairs, which he climbed all the way to the top floor. Upstairs he carefully stuck his fingers into the hole behind the fire extinguisher and closed his slim white fingers around a small silver key: the key to his freedom.

Robert snuck up the stairs and turned the little key in the lock. He heard a satisfying short click and the emergency door allowed him access to the only quiet and solitary spot in the entire hospital. (All broom cabinets were in use by either people making out; people trying to evade clinic duty by hiding from Lisa Cuddy, the dean of medicine or some perverted sickos trying to do both at the same time.)

As soon as the door was gently replaced into its original position, the posture of the young Aussie went through a major change. He hunched his shoulders and hung his head, leaning against one of the warm chimneys for support. His body was shaking with sobs as he slowly slid down the large pipe, until finally he was sitting in the snow, dressed in not much more than pants, a shirt and his lab coat.

The blonde rested his head on his knees, whilst his arms were hugging his shins. He continued to shudder, both with the cold and with numerous sobs.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours and all this time doctor Robert Chase had not moved, for the tears running down his cheeks and the occasional hiccup. His normally already extraordinarily pale skin had turned even lighter and his slightly parted lips were starting to get blue. His blond hair was falling into his handsome face and obscured his eyes from the world. Eyes that were staring into nothingness without even blinking. Eyes that would pierce and make even the least compassionate people wince and want to help the beautiful young man that was sitting on the roof of PPTH.

Chase yelped and flinched violently when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked around and saw the face of the man he least of all wanted to see right now: House. It was his boss, yet at the same time and in a strange way it somehow was not. Houses posture was not arrogant and authoritative as it usually was, but defeated and when the Aussie grudgingly met the older mans eyes, they were infinitely sad.

"H-h-how long have y-you b-b-been here, H-house?" the blond man managed to stutter.

House didn't answer. He kept looking at Chase with that sad look, making said person feel even more uncomfortable, clearly cursing himself for not paying more attention. The silence continued for another five minutes before Chase hesitantly requested his superior to answer his question.

"H-h-house?" his teeth chattered.

House seemed to be weighing his options. His mind was constructing all sorts of excuses to push the intensivist away, but his pleading, begging eyes made him sigh.

"Perhaps it would be the best idea to get to my office and talk." His lips curved into a sad smile and he gave the shivering Aussie his jacket and offered him a hand. Chase looked, if possible, even more miserable at the prospect of having to talk to his sarcastic, cold boss, but he reached for Houses hand nonetheless.

The latter pulled him up and slowly headed towards his office , heavily leaning on his cane, careful not to lose track of his favourite employee who followed him, looking so tired of life.

Finally they reached their destination. House closed the curtains, motioned for Chase to sit down, poured them both some tea (well, actually Chase drank the tea, he preferred coffee himself), popped a Vicodin and settled himself opposite his intensivist in his most favourite armchair. He took a few sips of his coffee, deliberately postponing "the talk" for as long as he could. Swallowing some more coffee he put down the cup and looked doctor Chase into the eye.

"So Robert," Chase flinched again at the use of his first name. House pretended not to notice. "care to enlighten me about your little drama show up the roof?"

They both knew that it wasn't a question but a demand, however, Chase remained completely silent.

"C-c-chase?" House mimicked the man, staring towards him with an extremely exaggerated look of hurt in his eyes. Chase looked away.

"How long were you there?" He asked House in a melody-less voice.

"If you mean: 'Did you see me run away as if I were confronted with my crappy dad and hide on the roof to cry my eyes out ?' then yes." House stated cheerfully. He looked at Chase who panicked for a moment, briefly closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly and gave House the cold 'the world sucks and I couldn't care less about it' glance.

"I don't have to tell you anything House, it's none of your business." Both his voice and his accent were thick.

"Oh, well, I'll just walk away and leave you be miserable. It's obviously not my business if my employee has been behaving more like a living corps lately, who doesn't contribute anything to the cases we are trying to solve and who runs away to cry on the roof in the middle of treating patients." House was starting to shout.

"People are dying because of you, and therefore they are dying because of me, and you are saying it's none of my business. I could have you fired, I should have you fired, I – ,"

"Why don't you then?" Robert cut in. House strode over to him in two steps and one jumpish thing, and grabbed the intensivists arm, roughly shaking him.

"House, let me go." His usually calm voice now had an edge to it. House ignored him so he repeated it, more forcefully this time.

"House, let. Me. Go!" When his boss still didn't react, he pushed the man away.  
"Don't touch me!" He yelled, and at the same time Houses fist collided with his face.

"Why did you really sell me to Vogler?" House demanded, "Obviously you don't care very much about your job…" He hit Chase again. A whimpering sound escaped the blond doctors lips and he fell of the stool he had been sitting on, hitting his head on the floor and immediately blacking out.

Shocked, Gregory House limped towards his unconscious employee and examined him. He removed the white lab coat, revealing the odd combination of clothes underneath it. At first sight, nothing seemed wrong, so House sighed in relief and called dr. Wilson.

As he was making himself some more coffee, he heard the door open and Wilsons voice drowned out the sound of the coffee machine:

"What on earth have you done to Chase?"

House looked around the cupboard to find his friend kneeling besides the still body of his duckling, feeling for a pulse. He looked up at House, demanding an answer immediately.

House pouted:

"I didn't do anything. He was trying to get out of clinic duty, so Cuddy smothered him with her breasts. I must admit that I am a teensy weensy bit jealous."

"Did she also smack him in the face with her boobs? I can see two fresh bruises forming in his face." Wilson gently touched the bluish marks on both of Chases cheeks.

"Horny..." replied House.

"House, don't be ridiculous." sighed Wilson exasperatedly. "Let's get the poor kid onto the couch. Why did you hit him in the first place?" Wilson grabbed Chases limp body as House threw all the junk of the couch.

"I'll tell you if you buy me lunch." House offered, trying his puppy-dog eyes on the oncologist. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Like that doesn't happen every day. I accept." He lowered the Australian onto the couch, gently placing his head on a pillow. House snorted.

"If you're planning to have me puke and thus skip lunch, the deal's off."

"Listen to me House, I don't know why you put that kid through – What are you doing?!" House had turned around mid sentence and walked over to the young doctor, starting to loosen his tie.

"House!" Wilson yelled.

"I'm sexually assaulting him in front of your eyes." said House, whilst starting to unbutton Chases ugly, purple and green shirt. "I always prefer dealing with people who have severe psychological issues, it's way more fun." Wilson opened his mouth, but said nothing. House rolled his eyes at shot a quick glance towards Wilsons lower arm.

"You have blood on your arm." he said and proceeded undressing Chase. Wilson glanced down quickly and then moved closer to the couch, helping his friend to turn the blond man over. And indeed, there was a dark stain on the Aussies back. Wilson gently lifted the left arm of the intensivist, with the intention of examining the cause of the blood on his back by taking the shirt of, unbuttoned the sleeve and removed the fabric from the pale, skinny limb. He gasped when he saw several red cuts all over Chases arm.

"Looks like your sick 'psychologically damaged people wish' has come true after all." Wilson turned towards House, lifting the arm. House didn't look up but instead focussed on what should have been the perfectly pale, skinny back of his duckling. It was covered in cuts and bruises. House saw Chases face, clearly contorted with fear. _'Don't touch me!' _He closed his eyes and sighed.

Wilson placed a hand on his shoulder. _'Ironic, I did the same thing to him no more than two hours ago.' h_e thought, looking at the man lying on the couch.

"House?" Wilson inquired.

House opened his eyes, turned around, looked into Wilsons eyes and said:

"I was right. It had nothing to do with the job."

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**I hope you all liked it. I will post more chapters, but I'm not the most quick author so it might take a while. Once again, please review so I can improve this tale.**

**Thank you for reading,**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hi people, Thanks for reading (or planning to read) this chapter. I trust you are not so weird as to start with chapter 2 instead of chapter 1, so I'm not repeating the disclaimer part or the warnings.**_

**_I would like to thank all people who read the story and especially those who reviewed! I would like for you to keep pointing out any mistakes that I've made, since I'm often annoyed by them too._**

**_Enjoy,_**

**_---_**

_Several weeks prior,_

"Wombat!" Houses voice sounded through the lab.

Chase jumped and dropped the stool sample he was working on. Angrily he turned towards his boss. "What?"

House grinned. "Aw, don't be so cranky, little angel." He ruffled Chases hair with his free hand. Chase blushed uncomfortably and tried to get House to quit. "Those puppy-dog eyes don't work on me, Briton."

Chase sighed. "Australian, and what do you need me for anyway?"

House winked at his youngest duckling. "I have a plan to get out of the clinic hours."

"Does it by any chance have anything to do with that letter? I'm guessing you tried to lure Cuddy into an empty broom cabinet by promising her sex with Foreman." Chase bent over in order to retrieve the materials he had dropped previously.

"No, but do remind that one for the next time. You will have to alter the master plan though. Cuddy likes you way better." House pinched Chases butt. Chase yelped and blushed again.

"Good, you've just won me fifty bucks. I knew you would blush." House chuckled and batted his eyelashes in a very innocent way.

"Then what is the letter?" Chase asked, trying to get House to focus on subjects other than sex and his bottom.

"You were sued. The lupus patient of last week died after all." House replied, turning serious immediately. He snorted when he caught sight of Chases expression. "Sjeesh, I didn't think you would actually believe that. Fetch Cameron and Foreman for me, will you?"

Chase rolled his eyes and continued cleaning up the mess he had made, whilst synchronically trying to find a way to get back at House. Revenge for the butt incident.

_What are Houses weaknesses? Cameron, Cuddy, Vicodin, his parents and his cane. There has to be some nice joke I could perform._

He washed his hands thoroughly and went to find Foreman and Cameron.

The intensivist knew that Cameron was working in the clinic, which was downstairs, and that Foreman was performing an MRI scan on a patient on the second floor. Chase took the stairs down and picked up some doughnuts along with dr. Cameron, before walking all the way up to fetch Foreman.

"Why does House need us anyway?" Foreman asked, clearly pissed for not being able to finish his scan. Cameron seemed to care less, after all, the clinic was not her favorite place to spend time either.

"I don't know, but when I last saw him he was still jerking around as usual. It can't be too bad."

"If you say 'jerking around'," Foreman said, his face splitting into a grin, "does that mean that he pinched your ass?" He looked at Chase who blushed once more. "Ah, crap. Looks like I lost 50 bucks to the cripple guy."

"Good for you." replied Chase grumpily. He turned around and strode of towards Houses office, trying to lose Cameron and Foreman on the way.

He had nearly reached his destination when he dropped the doughnuts, giving his colleagues a chance to catch up.

"And why the doughnuts?" Foreman continued "Do you actually like it when doctor House touches you?" Chase shivered, "or do you --"

"Foreman stop it. Let's get inside." The Aussie flashed doctor Cameron a grateful look. She smiled at him and asked whether he was alright. He smiled back and nodded, without saying a word and the three of them entered Houses office.

"Doctor Foreman, you owe me fifty bucks." House didn't look up from his video game. Foreman sighed and got out his wallet, starting to search for the money. House ignored the lot of them, until they heard a lot of noise coming from the video game. House cursed:

"Damn it, I crashed into the wall." He threw his game across the table and motioned for Foreman to give him his money. He pocketed it and motioned for his ducklings to sit down.

"So, minions. Some other talentless sucker has decided to become famous."

"You cannot be interrupting my MRI scan to tell us that Britney Spears has recorded a new album." snapped Foreman.

"No, not quite like that. This is the rich _sucker_ approach. Simply invest a couple of millions into a good cause, such as this hospital, and you will be patron saint and powerful member of the staff until the end of your days. Something for you Robbie? You could brighten up this talentless life and use your fathers inheritance to get all cool."

Foreman grinned, Cameron looked shocked and Chase didn't respond whatsoever. What House didn't know was that Chase hadn't inherited a single buck. In fact he was still busy paying off his college loans, but why bother his boss with that knowledge.

"What is his name?" asked Cameron. House unfolded the letter.

"We are pleased to inform you... yaba yaba yaba... and shall be hired as head of the medical committee.... bla bla bla... mister Edward Vogler." Chase dropped his jaw, and with it, his cup of tea.

The sound of breaking glass startled the doctors and they looked at Robert Chase, who swiftly closed his mouth and made up an excuse.

"I burned myself on the tea. Sorry." He looked at his boss apologetically. It was a lame story and he knew it, but as long as the other three believed him, he was OK with it. Chase was unsure as to why he didn't want them to know that Edward Voglerwas an old friend of his dad, but he did figure that pretending not to know the new, rich chairman would save him rather much bullying by House.

House raised an eyebrow and looked at the blond Aussie for a few moments before shrugging and continuing his speech.

"As I was saying, this Voglerhas 'very subtly' bought himself in to this hospital and he will, no doubt, want to achieve the highest quality. I daresay you can expect some nice interviews and personal conversations."

"Now I wish that Britney Spears had actually recorded a new album." Foreman muttered.

"Personally I hate interviewing new people for the team, so you'd better not get your asses fired." He looked directly at each of them. "Foreman, you should be safe. You guys are in the same ethnical minority. Supposing the guy is not a queer, you should have an advantage too Allison." House winked at her. "And that leaves poor little grumpy angel here. I suppose you take extra care not to kill anymore people if you like your job."

Even though he wrapped it in an insult, Chase recognized the warning the older doctor was giving him and he nodded in understanding.

"Goody. Now get your lazy asses busy again. If I'm not mistaken, we have a patient dying with Creutzfeldt Jakob. Go fix the guy." And with that, House pushed his chair backwards and swung his legs onto the table. He reached for his game and motioned for them to get out, whilst restarting his level.

It was three o'clock in the morning and Robert Chase couldn't sleep. He was lying in his bed with his eyes wide open and a frown on his face. This was unexpected, Edward Vogler at PPTH. House's youngest duckling wondered why, but, after a while, decided that the matter was utterly unimportant. The things that did matter were keeping their previous interactions a secret and behaving normally, two things he had barely managed to do this morning, and most importantly: keeping everything under control. No more nasty surprises would influence his act. This morning he had been... stupid. But then again, Vogler?! He had always had a certain dislike for the man.

Chase sighed and turned around once more. He was now facing the wall. His knees were drawn to his chest and his arms crossed in front of him. He looked at his alarm clock again. It was twenty one minutes past three.

It was twenty one minutes past three and the little blond boy was still awake. Today had been his fathers birthday. It had started out really nice. At ten o'clock, he and his mother had woken Rowan by singing 'Happy Birthday' and giving him his presents. Robert had made his dad a really pretty tie. It was green and it read 'Best dad in the world' in pink.

_Since it was a Sunday, Rowan Chase had invited many of his friends to spend the day at his place, much to Roberts dislike. The kid was really uncomfortable around people. His father forced him to attend these parties, however, and Robert was sitting on uncle Eddie's lap, a big, still quite young man whom his father had met in University where Eddie was the janitor. They had been best friend and Rowan had helped Edward in financial areas until the latter won the national lottery. After that their friendship had only strengthened, their equality having been improved._

_Robert was reading a book that uncle Eddie had bought him, his blond locks falling into his face. The book was about a boy who was a rather good football player and whose team was competing in some tournament. Even though Robbie detested football, he found the book to be very exiting. Reading itself was a great experience. His father usually didn't allow him any books._

"_Do you like the book, Robert?" Edward inquired. Robert looked up, his eyes sparkling, his cheeks slightly flushed with excitement, and nodded yes. The older man smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He leaned closer to the frail body of the child and whispered into his ear._

"_I deemed such a present fit for such a pretty boy like yourself." Robert froze as he felt one of the mans hands slowly move up his legs. He tried to get away from Edward, but apart from said man not letting go, his dad warned him not to move with a single, terrifying glance. The little Australian knew that glance and his shoulders slumped as he tried to ignore the hands exploring his body and his dad scrutinizing his every move._

_Later that evening, Chase junior was reading his new book when a clearly very agitated Rowan Chase burst into the room. He grabbed the book out of his sons hands and ripped it to pieces. A very small moan of protest escaped Roberts delicate lips, but his dad caught it nonetheless. Raging and violently hitting and kicking his son, the man yelled out his embarrassment. No son of his was allowed to behave in such a way._

_Robert crawled into a corner and tried to protect his body as well as he could by pulling his knees up and covering his head with his arms. Even though the sound of his fathers yelling reached his ears, he simply couldn't absorb the meaning of the words hurled towards him, his mind so busy trying to block these hostilities. All the small boy did was looking at his father with big, scared eyes and praying for it to end._

_It seemed to take ages and hours after his father had left, the broken kid had not moved, unable to gather himself and drag his body all the way to his bed._

Chase was blankly staring at the wall, when he heard a loud noise. He looked up, with a hammering heart and sighed in relief when he saw it was just a book that had fallen of a shelf, onto the wooden floor. Evening out his breathing, he looked at his alarm clock again. It was twenty two minutes past three.

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**Please review,**

**I hope I will be able to update soon, but I'm sure you all have lots of experience with school. My tests were last week, but still, it's rather a lot of work. I try my best though.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello, oh kind readers of my tale. I hope I didn't make you wait for too long. But then again, the right level of tension makes it all the better! (Yes, the author of this tale is incredibly positive all the time. Because the world is _so_ great...) **

**Once again, all of you who've read and especially reviewed, thank you very very much. Writing is no fun without an enthousiastic audience. I hope you will enjoy the new chapter,**

As usual, doctor Gregory House was twenty minutes late. He parked his awesome motorcycle on his, luckily situated very close to the entrance of the hospital, parking spot and he limped in, towards his office, waving to Cuddy and offering her a friendly smile on his way. When he arrived at the diagnostics department and took the cup of coffee that was waiting for him, he noticed the absence of Foreman. Cameron and Chase hadn't, or they simply couldn't care less.

House sat down, swung his feet onto the table and drunk his coffee. Whilst stirring he inquired:

"Where's Foreman?" No one answered.

"Since I'm not one of those ever-optimistic faith people who believe he could be doing my clinic duty but my cold, cynical, control freak of a diagnostician self," he pouted towards Cameron, who rolled her eyes. Chase didn't even divert his attention from his crossword puzzle, "I ask you again: Where is Foreman?"

"If you had had the common decency to check your email every now and then, you would have known that the all-mighty mister Vogler is re-interviewing the entire staff and that our apartment is up today. Your own appointment is in two hours or so." Cameron replied, slightly annoyed by both the upcoming interview and the fact that Chase was, again, gnawing on his pencil. Desperately trying to get anyone's attention she interrupted his thoughts.

"When are you up?" He looked up, a little disoriented, before his mind managed to form he right conclusion and he replied.

"Five o'clock this evening." He immediately returned to his 'mammal with seven letters'. Cameron forcibly shoved her chair backwards.

"If anyone would be interested in me," she yelled, "my appointment is at three thirty." And with that she rushed out, knocking over her cup of coffee and leaving a thoughtful Australian and a suddenly very cheerful cripple guy behind. "Men" she sighed and she made her way to the clinic.

As she left though, the brilliant diagnostician frowned. Interviews. He had been expecting it, but not so soon. He looked at Chase, the only person left in his office. His intensivist didn't look very well. He had bags underneath his eyes and he was constantly biting on his writing utensils and tapping his fingers on the table to a rhythm that House couldn't figure out.

As soon as the handsome Aussie caught sight of his boss staring at him, he averted his gaze, gathered his possessions and attempted to get out and find a quiet and peaceful place. House stopped him however.

"Hey handsome?" House wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. Chase raised one of his own brows. The diagnostician deliberated for a moment.

"Could you cover my night shift for me? I've still got heaps of internet porn to watch. Thanks." The other knew that this was a lost case and just sighed and confirmed. When House smiled, Chase turned around and made a second attempt to get out.

"Did I give you permission to go?"

"But Cameron... You... I.... She..."

"Are you so nervous for your interview?" Chase nodded. House smirked and pretended to think about something. "Oh, yes. I can imagine it. I wouldn't have hired you if your father hadn't made a phone call to me. Somehow I doubt you have that advantage now." Chase stalked off. "Do my clinic duty!" House called after him.

Secretly Chase was glad that House sent him to do his clinic duty. Their department had no case, since it took a lot to get his boss interested, and Chase really needed some distraction. He had never been so nervous for an interview.

Robert walked towards the stairs and counted all the steps he descended. There were 56, which was exactly twice his age. Next he counted the amount of steps that he took before reaching the desk where nurse Kim would sign him in, or rather, where she would sign Greg House in. He had to take 73 steps. This made him realize that he was distressed. Usually he would have to take 78 steps, which was the age of his grandmother when she died.

He approached Kim.

"Hey Robert." She smiled and turned around in order to fetch him his name tag.

"It's Gregory today." He answered. She looked at him.

"Again?" he nodded.

"I don't mind really. We haven't got ourselves a patient anyway and…" he averted his gaze, "I finished all my crosswords." She laughed, a melodious tinkling sound, and handed him Houses badge.

"Shall we lunch together this afternoon?" he nodded.

"I'd like to very much."

"All right, Greg, I'll see you then." She handed him a few files and directed him towards exam room 3. It took him 42 steps to get there, which was only one less than usual, and he was rather surprised that Kim had been able to calm him down so swiftly. He took a deep breath and opened the door to exam room 3 with a gentle smile on his face.

"Good day, mister Donahue. I'm doctor House, how can I help you?"

"Well, doctor House," replied the old man that was sitting in the room, "I've been having this rash on my left arm for a few days."

"Would you mind showing me?"

And thus an excruciatingly long morning began. Chase felt as if he had to help a gazillion people. There was this woman with a strained wrist, the kid with a marble up his nose and countless others. He was glad when lunch had finally come.

"Hey Kim." He greeted her, whilst dropping all the files on her desk. "Where are we going to eat? Inside the hospital, or outside of it?"

"Hey Greg," she grinned, "I'd remove the name tag if I were you. I doubt that doctor Cuddy would appreciate it that you are covering for House all the time." He did as she said. "I suggest we just stay in the hospital. My lunch break is only half an hour and you know how these waiters work. They let you wait for ages."

"Hence the name." Smiled Chase. Kim grinned and they both walked towards PPTH's hospital restaurant.

Since half the hospital had their lunch break, the restaurant was very busy and no empty tables remained. As Kim and Chase were waiting in the queue for their food, they were searching the hall for a spot where they could peacefully consume their meals.

"We could sit with Janice and Leon over there." Kim pointed out, but Robert said he'd rather not and offered another suggestion.

"What about joining Wilson? He's sitting alone and if I recall correctly, you are quite fond of him." Kim blushed.

"I've had a crush on him for nearly two years now," she confessed, "but I dare not approach him since he's always spending time with House."

"All the more reason to join him, especially now when House is absent." Chase grinned.

"Are you alright, Gregory?" Kim said, her voice filled with mock concern. "The last time I spoke you, you were still a narcissistic, selfish, arrogant jerk and now you are trying not to be noticed. What has happened to you? May I suggest a good psychologist? Doctor Wotherspoon perhaps?" She picked French fries along with a salad and a cup of coffee. Chase grinned and paid for her food as well as for his own vegetable soup and cup of tea. Then he led her to Wilson's table.

"Hi Wilson. This is Kim. Kim, this is doctor Wilson." He introduced them to one another.

"Pleasure to meet you, Kim." Wilson said courteously.

"Likewise." Replied Kim, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.

"So, where is House?" Chase looked at the oncologist, wondering if he knew the current whereabouts of his boss.

"I'm not sure, but I thought I heard him mentioning some interview with that new guy, you know, Edward Vogler." The Aussie nodded, remembering his own upcoming interview, which were to take place in approximately five hours and immediately became nervous again.

Robert sat down on one of the chairs that were left and Kim followed his example. Wilson took a bite of his mashed potatoes and suddenly seemed to remember something crucial. He closed his eyes and slammed his left hand against his forehead.

"What's wrong doctor Wilson?" asked Kim.

"Please call me James." Wilson insisted.

"All right, James," she smiled, "what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing important. I just realized that I need to fill out some of these forms that dr. Cuddy gave me, so as to attend a medical conference next month. Do any of you happen to have a pen at hand?" Kim shook her head, but Chase started searching his bag. After a minute or so, he yelled triumphantly and held up a pen, or rather the remainder of one that had been chewed on for at least a month. Kim laughed, but Wilson gladly accepted it and started writing down the necessary information in his illegible handwriting.

"I'm sorry about the chewing," Chase apologized, "but I usually get a bit carried away when I'm trying to solve my puzzles."

"Which reminds me," Kim spoke up, "that I've bought you a present." She retrieved a rectangular package, which was wrapped in blue paper, from her bag and handed it to him.

"You really shouldn't have…" Robert started, but Kim stopped him, saying that it was just a small present and that he deserved it after covering for House so often. He smiled and carefully removed the paper, taking care not to rip it. As he gently placed the paper aside and uncovered the present, he saw a small booklet that read _'A variety of puzzles. Entertain your Brain.'_ He looked up at Kim.

"Thank you." He smiled softly, which warmed her heart. She welcomed this positive change from the tired and nervous appearance he had had all day.

"You are most welcome."

"So," said Wilson, having finished with all the bureaucratic mess, "why _do_ you keep doing House's clinic duty?"

"Well, he tells me to, so I go." Chase shrugged.

"He won't fire you if you don't, Chase." Wilson sighed. "Look at Foreman, he never covers for House."

The Aussie smiled. "I know. I just need to have something to occupy my mind and crosswords tend to get a bit boring and repetitive after a few hours. What's more, I figured that if I could actually do something useful instead of being terrified by my upcoming interview and shivering in a corner, I would." Wilson nodded and Kim interrupted the conversation.

"Are you that nervous for it? I'm sure the guy will be perfectly decent, and besides, you're a great doctor. Why would he want to fire you?" The intensivist smiled and thanked her with his eyes. Unfortunately he knew that Vogler wasn't _'Perfectly decent'_ as she described him, but that was something the others would, hopefully, never find out.

"Besides," he added, "I'm a terrible public speaker."

"How so?" Inquired Wilson. Chase smiled.

"I stutter, I blush, I completely forget how to construct a proper English sentence, I fidget with anything I can lay my hands on and I seem to have this tendency to accidentally insult people."

"I don't mean to be rude, but how, in the name of my grandmothers woolen underwear did you end up on House's diagnostics team?" Wilson replied. "He surely isn't one of the kinder interviewers to be found in this hospital." Chase looked away, deliberately letting his hair obscure his face, and pretended that he hadn't heard the question.

"Is it that embarrassing?" The oncologist kept bugging in order to get Chase to tell him the story. "Please tell me you didn't, you know…"

Chase stood up and grabbed his messenger bag. He glared at Wilson. "Why thank you for thinking so much of me. I do truly appreciate it." With that he left the two of them behind.

"Chase!" Wilson bellowed, but the blond doctor ignored him. The oncologist sunk back into his chair and sighed. "I really like him, you know," he told Kim, "but I don't think I completely understand him."

Kim agreed.

**Yes, ladies (and gentlemen, though I would be rather surprised if there were any reading this) that was it for this time. I still enjoy feedback. If you have any comments, feel free to review and bug the hell out of me. I am happily surprised that up till now, noone has abused the possibility anonimous reviewing poses. Thank you for that!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yes, the most horrible author in the universe has finally posted another chapter. I couldn't let all my loyal readers spend Christmas without another chapter, without feeling incredibly guilty about it. Well, you all knew I am a slow updater. I warned you.**

**Anyways, I would like to wish all of you a merry Christmas and a very happy 2009! Enjoy you holidays and be careful with the fireworks. I hope the new year fulfills all of your dearest wishes.**

**And now... on with the show,**

Chase looked up at the large clock again. Ten minutes to five. He closed his eyes. This was it then, ten more minutes and he would have to face Vogler again. Ten minutes had never seemed so short a time. At night, when he couldn't sleep, ten minutes seemed long enough for God to recreate the entire universe and if he were on night duty, like he would be this night, and nothing interesting whatsoever happened, ten minutes could seem like a few hours. Admittedly, when he was working, ten minutes passed fairly swift but he had never experienced time fly like this.

He opened his eyes again and slowly stood up, forcing himself to walk towards Vogler's office. As he had done that morning, he tried to calm himself down by counting the number of steps he took.

One, two, three, four, five and he reached the door of the room. He opened it with trembling hands and cursed the countless cups of tea he'd drunk over the course of the day.

Six, seven, eight, nine. Once again his thoughts strayed to that birthday of his father. It was that day that his teacher, Mrs. Jameson, had called his parents to ask whether _'Everything was alright with Robbie. He seemed so… so quiet. He didn't have many friends after he had skipped a year and he was unnaturally mature at times. Was there anything wrong? And if so, could she help in any way?'_

Rowan told her that everything was fine. Most likely, Robert needed to get used to his new classmates. It had, after all, only been a couple of weeks since the switch and Robert had never been particularly socially advanced. He thanked her for her concern nonetheless.

He hadn't been angry when he ended the call, but his calculating mood scared the blond boy even more. The fact that his dad was talking to him, as if he had anything to say on the matter, now reminded Chase of House's soliloquies in front of Wilson. The only thing both the oncologist and the little Aussie could do was listen and try to use the flow of information to their own advantage.

The famous rheumatologist was pacing up and down the large living room, mumbling to himself and his son. "Can't have my reputation ruined because you don't behave, Robert." He spat out and turned around again. "No, we have to divert her attention or make her believe that nothing is wrong. But how?" He scratched behind his ear. "We can't move, since I still am famous. She'd only remember the clearer. Neither can we continue the way we did because you," Rowan spat at his son, who visibly paled, "can't seem to behave normally."

For a few minutes, the older man silently strode through the room, his kid eyeing him timidly and attentively, seemingly saving all his father's words for later. All of a sudden, however, Rowan stopped dead in his tracks. Judging his expression of wild euphoria, Robert was sure his dad had figured out a way in which he could justify his son's behavior to Mrs. Jameson. He wasn't sure if he was going to like it though.

"Yes I have it!" Rowan exclaimed, "Remember your cousin Kayly? She used to be very expressive, but after it happened she was like a closed book, like a dark room, unreadable. You could go all whiney and depressed, but I wouldn't be the one to blame, would I?" He grinned.

Robert had had no idea what his father was talking about back then, but he did a few hours later. His father's scrutinizing gaze, those hands on his body… He shivered, but the feeling wouldn't diminish. He took a few deep breaths and steadied himself, continuing to place one foot before the other.

Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one.

He had to admit that it had worked, though. There were few people as unreadable as Chase was these days. In the beginning he had tried to fight it, but when he realized that by acting as if everything was alright he would be left alone, he just closed his eyes and prayed for strength and continued his usual behavior. And everybody was happy. Mrs. Jameson was happy, his father was happy, uncle Eddie was happy and even Robert sometimes felt a small sparkle of joy when his daddy told him he was proud of him.

Seventy-three, seventy-four.

He made his way into the elevator where he stood still, pushed the correct button and waited for the familiar feeling one gets when in one. After the soft sound, indicating that he had arrived at his destination floor, he continued his counting.

Seventy-five, seventy-six, all the way up to ninety-eight, when he reached the wooden door bearing Edward Vogler's name tag. He clenched both his hands into fists and slowly raised one, to knock on the door. The hollow sound was followed by the low 'come in'. Chase swallowed once, turned the doorknob and stepped over the threshold.

"Ah, Robert." Vogler looked at him. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you like anything to drink?" Chase noticed how his throat had gone dry, so he nodded once. "What can I get you, then?" Inquired the large man.

"Just water is fine, mister Vogler." Chase answered, not daring to look the other man into his eyes.

"Please Robert," Vogler went on, "can't you just call me Edward?" And Robert nodded and did so, even though he actually wanted to deny, or even better, walk away. But that was never the right thing to do, according to all the proverbs at least.

The new chairman turned around so as to fetch a glass of water and Chase sat down on the wooden chair opposite the desk. There was a bunch of files on it and the Aussie noticed that his own one was on top, opened to a page somewhere in the middle. Next to his file was House's, on top of Cameron's and Foreman's. There were yellow post-its all over Vogler's papers. Chase was briefly tempted to leaf through House's file but apart from him being able to refrain from it by realizing that he would hate for House to do it to him, Vogler reentered the office with a glass of water and a jar of cookies. He held it out to Chase, who declined, and took one for himself., after which he placed the jar on his desk. He handed the handsome doctor his water.

"Thank you." Chase said, his voice unsteady with the tension. Vogler returned him a stern nod and took Chase's file into his hands. He briefly read it and occasionally mumbled something incoherent. At a given moment, he slammed the file shut and looked at the intensivist.

"For how long have you worked for House now? I believe it's longer than dr. Cameron and dr. Foreman, isn't it?"

"Yes," Chase admitted, "I've worked with him longer than anyone has managed to do so far." Secretly he was rather proud of that achievement.

"And why is that, according to you?" the dark man asked.

"I don't know, really." Chase frowned. "I suppose I just don't get too upset by his evil tricks." Was that true though? He usually didn't, but when Rowan had visited, not too long ago, House's probing had been more than just annoying. When his father had left again, it only got worse. But Chase figured that the fun of those comments would soon diminish and that their relationship would go back to the nasty jokes and power abuse fairly swiftly. Though he never told anyone, Chase actually liked their, well, sort of distorted friendship. At least House accepted him and treated him as an equal, unlike Foreman, who hated him for being 'rich, smart _and_ good-looking', and Cameron, who disliked him because he was so secretive, never showing any emotions, and for hating his father.

"Why don't you ask House?" Chase countered, gladly removing the focus that was on him, and he crossed his arms.

"I have already. I just wanted to know what you thought about the matter."

"So what did he say?" The younger man was quite curious as to what the answer to that would be.

"Technically," Vogler began, "I'm not supposed to tell you. Confidentiality and all… But I reckon if he doesn't care about that, then why should I bother?" He looked at the other, who clearly wanted to know what his boss had said about him. "He mainly shrugged and told me how you always did what he wanted you to do without complaining, how you kissed his ass all the time and how he enjoyed being able to make you cry at some times, and having you joke along at others."

'_Well, what a surprise.'_ Chase thought, mentally rolling his eyes. As a matter of fact, he was rather disappointed with House for not including more insulting words or phrases or saying something completely random to satisfy Vogler's demands and curiosities. He looked up at the dark man expectantly.

"All right," said Vogler, after writing something down on a post-it and sticking it on a certain page of Chase's file, "let's continue our interview. What, would you say, were your reasons for deciding to work for dr. House?" He emphasized the word 'dr.' so that Chase raised one eyebrow and he could see the blond doctor wondering as to to what use he was going to put the information he acquired in this interview.

Chase hesitated. "Well…" he looked at the clock behind the other man and focussed on the fastest hand, counting the seconds along with it, "I, well, him being the most famous diagnostician on the planet and stuff…" He looked down to his knees.

"And you didn't mind leaving Australia? Brave." Vogler said, seemingly impressed, but when the younger man looked again, he noticed how there was a subtle hint of urgency underneath the carefully layered facade of the man opposite him. Chase wondered what Vogler wanted.

"So how did your interview go?" The chairman continued.

Chase bit back a sarcastic 'Oh, just plain horrible! I forgot that I had no medical degree and accidentally broke House's cane on the way out.' And instead gave the man a friendly smile and offered him a vague outline of that particular conversation. Vogler continued writing, whilst listening to the intensivist's response and occasionally nodding at the appropriate times.

"House told me he had only hired you because your father had given him a call." Ouch, that one was underneath the belt. And furthermore, it was a dangerous topic to discuss, given the identity of the man sitting across him. A blush crept up Chase's cheeks as he tried to give a satisfying answer.

"I guess he did, but I can't be that bad, now can I?" He said, rather unsure about it. "I mean, he didn't fire me yet. That's got to count for something." Vogler nodded absent mindedly and House's duckling continued. "I didn't even know that my father had called before House decided to bully me with it."

"That would be something for Rowan." Vogler said, referring to the phone call that the rheumatologist had made, and he studied the blond Aussie's face for any reaction at the man's name. Chase's involuntary twitch satisfied him and with a smug smirk he scribbled something down on another post-it.

"All right, House has never attempted to fire you. What about yourself? Have you ever considered quitting?"

"No." Chase answered almost too quickly.

Vogler frowned. "No like 'no, I'd never do something like that' or more like 'I did but it's none of your business'?"

"I'd never do something like that."

"So I can deduce that you are content with the ways of PPTH?" Vogler concluded, "But are there any things that you would like to change around here?"

Chase chewed on his bottom lip, whilst thinking about the question the large man had posed. Was there anything he'd like to change? He guessed not. The Aussie was never fond of his colleagues, but together they were a great team and he had no trouble cooperating with them whatsoever. House could be nasty, but he was a brilliant doctor and if not for him, many people would have been given up and they would have died. Besides, House could be fun. Chase was very fond of Wilson and he respected Cuddy very much. The only thing he wanted changed was the current chairman of the board, but the odds of that were virtually non-existent, so he shrugged and allowed the other man to continue.

"Can you tell me why, you think, you are the best doctor on the diagnostics department?"

"Personally I feel that we are a great _team_ above all. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, but in a group we cooperate really well."

"What are their weaknesses then?"

"Dr. Cameron usually gets too involved in cases. She starts caring too much and wants to do whatever the patient wants, instead of what he or she needs. Also she can be a little naive at times." Vogler was writing his words down very fast and motioned for him to wait a little. When the man was ready, the Aussie continued. "Foreman is too competitive. He just wants to be right all the time and that can affect the well-being of the patients."

"What about House?" Vogler asked.

"He has a terrible bedside manner and sometimes he really does the most immoral things."

"And you, Robert? What is your weakest point?"

Their conversation continued for many more minutes and near the end of it Chase was wondering what the purpose of the man was. It hadn't been as bad as he expected, but he did get the feeling that Vogler was interfering in their department a little too much. More than two thirds of their conversation had been about his boss and he hadn't had a single question concerning his medical abilities.

The longer the handsome intensivist thought about it, the more suspicious he became. He was sure that, whatever it was, they hadn't heard the end of it. And finally:

"Thank you for your time, Robert." Vogler spoke. Chase nodded. They shook hands and Chase returned to the diagnostics department relieved.

**All reviewers: Thanks a lot! I appreciate your feedback very much. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Guess who has finally updated? Me! Yes, I hate myself too. I know I'm slow and I'm stuck in a major writer's block, which has only become worse since I finished the chapter. Sorry. **

**Thank you for the support. I will finish the story, eventually and I hope you guys will stick with me until the very end.**

"Hey!" Cameron's exorbitantly happy face popped into sight when Chase walked into the office and poured himself a cup of tea.

"Do you want some?" he asked, holding the tea up so she could see it.

"No thank you." She smiled at him and held her own coffee aloft. "I already have another caffeine booster."

Chase sat down besides her and got out his new puzzle book. He opened it and frantically started searching for his pencil, emptying his bag in the process.

Cameron smiled and asked: "How did your interview go?"

Chase frowned. "How did you know--"

The immunologist butted in. "Apart from you telling me this morning, you know, when I asked you, you look like you are going to throw up and pass out at the same time. And I happen to know of your fondness of public speaking, so…" She laughed when he growled something under his breath. "So, how did it go?"

"Fine, I guess." He answered, not moving into any of the details.

"I told you so." She exclaimed again. "What stuff did he ask you? Did he mention the mistake you made with those x-ray pictures? What--"

"That's not really your business now, is it?" He shook her off. Her face fell when she noticed the tension in the room, and how the atmosphere had suddenly dropped. His face was set in a frown again. Now he reconsidered the interview, he was sure that Vogler hadn't mentioned any of that, which he should have, of course. He was persuaded into questioning Vogler's intentions more by the minute.

What if he asked Cameron about her interview? Would she tell him about it after he had shaken her of? And if she did, would she want to know about his? The latter was very probable and he knew he was a terrible liar. He didn't need her getting involved. Finally he decided against asking her and went back to his tea and his puzzle.

After a short period of time House walked in, clutching his heart dramatically when he noticed the intensivist in the office. Chase looked up from his puzzle, a blush of concentration on his face, and he rolled his eyes when he saw House, who clearly pretended to be having a heart attack.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it…. Is this a joke?" House said in a very call TV-like manner, as Chase sighed and focussed on the puzzle again. The diagnostician went on. "How can you _not_ get fired? Please tell me this is not real. Someone, pinch me." Still gripping his heart, he let himself drop into a chair. He studied his youngest duckling. At first sight nothing seemed wrong, but when he looked better, he noticed how there was a tiny hint of a blush on the Aussie's face. He saw his employee's hands had formed fists and he realized the eyes of Chase were not seeing anything as the kid stared to his booklet, trying not to react to House's taunts. House smirked, wondering what it would take for the intensivist to crack. He'd already found two subjects Chase was uncomfortable with: this and Rowan, Chase's dad.

He was too late to realize Cuddy was walking up towards him, very probably not for a pleasant reason. In his mind, he tried to figure out what it was that she wanted. Clinic duty? He guessed not, since he'd sent Chase to cover for him all morning and Cameron barely a week ago. Also he didn't recall anything particularly immoral he had done to a patient lately, so what could it be? Well, he would find out soon enough, judging by the look on her face.

"I need you to wear your lab coat." She said  
"I need two days of outrageous sex with someone obscenely younger than you. Like half your age."  
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Wear the coat."  
"Man oh man. Someone got spanked real good this morning."  
"Guy gives $100 million to cure cancer, pretty small concession to wear a lab coat."  
"Cure cancer. Is the hospital getting out of the dull business of treating patients?"  
"You know that's not what he's doing."  
"I know exactly what he's doing. He's using us to run clinical trials."  
"Oh, shame on him! Saving lives like that."  
"It's unethical...."  
"Clinical trials save thousands of lives."  
"He's using patients as guinea pigs."  
"Pharmaceutical companies do that every day."  
"Are we a pharmaceutical company? We're gonna wind up pressuring desperate patients into choices that are bad for them, good for us. You're gonna compromise patient care."  
"Who the hell am I talking to? Suddenly ethical lapses are a major concern for you?"  
"What's interesting is it suddenly doesn't bother you."  
"So, if you ignore ethics to save one person it's admirable, but if you do it to save a thousand you're a bastard. All he's done is taken your game and gone pro."  
"He's not going to kill a few patients. He's going to kill this hospital."  
"It took him three seconds to size you up, and surprise? He doesn't like you. Wear the damn coat."

'_What an ass….' _House thought when his boss had walked along the corridor. Both hers and him. He preferred Cuddy's ass though. And he preferred her boobs to her ass. That left the new chairman dangling at the bottom of the list. He never liked wearing his lab coat, but this was a recipe for having him disobey the rules. It would have been smarter to demand the exact opposite. That way there was a slight chance of him actually listening.

House grinned. It would be even more fun to see when that Vogler dude would crack. From now on he'd do anything to annoy the man. He limped to the soda machine, got out his wallet and threw some coins down it. Picking a random drink, he took the longest detour towards Wilson's office he could come up with, passing Vogler's three times in the process. He could swear the dark man looked more aggravated every time he gently waved. The first time it was just a 'rolls eyes' moment and the certainty that House would submit, eventually. The second time Vogler's eyebrows grew closer to one another, until they touched in the middle, and his mouth was a lot thinner than before. The third time it got really funny. When he waved at the big man, the chairman's eyes looked like they were burning him to ashes and his hands were choking the Styrofoam cup filled with coffee until it burst, leaving a lot of fluid on the floor. Vogler looked ready to kill, so House decided it was better if he went to Wilson's office now, before the other was finished mopping the floor.

To his great surprise, and displeasure, Wilson wasn't with a patient. A pity, for he really liked chasing them away. When in clinic, the preferred method for dealing with them was insinuating that they would die very soon, but most of Wilson's patients were dying anyway and that eliminated all the fun in it.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" asked Wilson.

"Why haven't you bought me lunch?"

"Because you weren't there to make me buy you lunch."

"That's no valid reason. Even if I'm not actually present at lunch I still need to eat. You could have bought me some sandwiches." House rubbed his stomach and gave Wilson a pained look. "I'm starving."

Wilson started collecting his belongings and shoving them into his bag. "_I'm_ starving, House. That might be because you stole my wallet when I was with a patient and used all my lunch money. I had to beg the lady in the cafeteria to give me something. So if you don't mind, I'm going home to eat now, since I, unlike you, have no night duty this evening." He stood up and made for the door. House followed him. "Go to sleep, House, before your presence becomes even less bearable for the patients."

"But I, unlike you, have ducklings who obey me and one of them is covering my shift." House grinned satisfactorily.

The oncologist rolled his eyes. "Let me guess… Chase?" he said, and when the other man nodded he sighed. "He really needs to develop a spine. He seems to labor under the misapprehension that you'll fire him if he doesn't do what you say. Can't you tell him that that's not the case?"

"Of course not!" House hid behind a particularly bushy plant when Vogler appeared, who still was in a terribly bad mood. Wilson was flabbergasted and didn't know what to do. The sight of him, standing still in the middle of a corridor, next to an extremely bushy plant was rather conspicuous, so it wasn't very surprising that Vogler started making his way towards the oncologist. Inwardly, House cursed his friend, but in order to remain hidden he needed to save his insults for a later time.

"Dr. Wilson. And ah… dr. House." Vogler spoke when he noticed the unnatural extra branch the plant had grown was really House's cane. Deciding that all hope was lost, the owner of said cane grumpily stepped into sight. "May I ask why you were so… intently enjoying the flora in this hospital?"

"Oh, well, you know me. Tree hugger and all." House patted the plant and spoke to it in a fatherly manner, ignoring Wilson's snort. "You'll be alright. A lot of people tend to feel a bit blue in winter. It'll work out just fine, you will see."

Vogler was running out in patience. "Why aren't you wearing your lab coat?" he demanded, rudely interrupting House's conversation with the plant, which he had now named 'Brittany'.

House looked surprised. "I'm sorry chairman. I wasn't aware of the fact that one needs to wear their lab coat too when going home?" He batted his eyelashes and pouted innocently.

"Personally, I was under the impression that you had to work tonight. In fact, I'm surprised not to find you asleep."

"My fault entirely. I have switched shifts with doctor Chase, since he had to work on a day that was rather inconvenient for him. I must have forgotten to write it down and thus notify one of my superiors, like yourself." The diagnostician kept blinking fast, but suddenly stopped when he thought he saw a flash of triumph in the hitherto angry eyes of the large man opposite him. He frowned, but when he looked again, it was gone. He figured he'd just imagined it.

"Fine," Vogler sighed, "go home. But I do want your full administrative records in perfect chronological order by next week Wednesday."

House raised one eyebrow and snorted. "Keep dreaming, oh all mighty chairman, keep dreaming. The day when you'll be able to outsmart the great Gregory House is never breaking." And with that he pulled his cane out of 'Brittany', dragged an apologizing Wilson along and marched away to the hospital's exit. "Now where were we, James?"

Meanwhile, Vogler was still standing in the middle of the, now deserted, corridor, fuming with rage. Oh how he hated that arrogant bastard of a Gregory House. If he were able to get away with it, he'd gladly kill the brilliant diagnostician with his bare hands. He wasn't sure if he preferred poisoning the man's beloved coffee or simply shooting him in the chest.

The chairman wasn't stupid and of course he knew that such things were impossible, so he let his thoughts stray to another way to be rid of the crippled man, even though it wasn't nearly as satisfying: having him fired. From all the interviews he had taken up till now, he gathered that very few people respected House. His own team even admitted how terrible his behavior was. One of the three even mentioned that he'd rather get rid of the guy, if only personal reasons were taken into account, but unfortunately the man was a complete genius, solving cases that were given up upon by multiple experts.

In his head, a plan was forming though. A plan that might actually work out if he were lucky. It was all based on something that his Robbie mentioned in his interview, when asked for House's weaknesses. Besides confirming his suspicions of the man's terrible bedside manner, Chase had mentioned how House sometimes '_really does the most immoral things_'. The only thing he, Edward Vogler, needed to do was wait and catch House in the act.

The biggest problem, he figured, was the actual 'catch' part. He'd heard from Lisa Cuddy how House managed to conveniently disappear when scheduled for clinic duty. If even Lisa wasn't able to find the man who had been working for her for quite some time, how was he supposed to? The only people close to him were Lisa and James, the oncologist, and he knew that the Jewish man would never betray his best friend.

Right up till, say, five minutes ago, when he had confronted House in the corridor, he had been at a loss as to how to solve this problem, but something the cripple man had said had opened a world of possibilities: Robert. How could he have forgotten about his little blond angel? He was unable to remove the satisfied smirk that appeared on his face, every time his thoughts strayed to the Australian doctor.

When the intensivist was still a little kid, he was beautiful. Always a few inches shorter than his classmates, a difference that was only strengthened as Robert was allowed to skip a few years. He had the most gorgeous blue-green eyes, framed by thick, blond lashes. When the kid was asleep, those lashes would softly touch his slightly rosy cheeks. His perfectly curved lips were slightly parted and the deep breaths he took were barely audible. The only thing proving his air intake was the steady rising and falling of his chest. And the hair…. Vogler had always found Robert's golden locks simply enchanting. The way they danced when the boy was running, the way his hair covered his face when he tried to create his own little world, tried not to stand out, the way it hung straight down after Robert had gone swimming, a tone darker than usual, because of all the water in it.

Vogler sighed. He had always been afraid of Chase growing up, fearing that his beauty might perish, but when he looked at the intensivist now, he wished it had happened much sooner. The beauty Robert had possessed as a little kid had developed into something near perfection. His hair had turned a little darker, closer to gold than ever before. His face was more masculine, but still betrayed a certain vulnerability. The Aussie had grown quite a bit, but remained somewhat smaller and more frail than the average man and the slight toning of his muscles was a pleasure to the eye.

The chairman reveled the most in Chase's eyes, though. With their peculiar color they were a, so called, eye-catcher. They were the most beautiful when streaks of emotion colored them. When the intensivist was angry, they became cold and accusing; when he was happy, a little sparkle decorated them, dancing in the sunlight and when he was sad, which he managed to mask almost all the time, they were clouded with grief and, sometimes, tears, that often stuck to his, still thick, lashes. Knowing how private a person Chase was, Vogler appreciated any display of emotions, no matter how short it might be, all the more.

Chase being this private a person served him all the better if he ever wanted to get rid of House. It would need careful planning and subtle blackmail. He was confident that it would ultimately lead to success, since he knew the Aussie's sensitivity to it. Besides, he considered himself a sort of expert. He had spent many years manipulating people and currently he was a multimillionaire, no a multibillionaire with enough money to wipe his ass, respected and admired by many and feared by most of the others.

Tonight he had a chance to lay the foundations of his work. He had already seen how tired and jitterish Chase had become in the course of the week and if he had to grade the ease with which the man would be persuaded on a scale from one to ten, he would easily give it a nine…. At least.

Vogler took another cookie from the jar on his desk and looked at the clock. It was past seven o'clock already and when he scanned the corridors they were nearly all deserted. The visitors hour would end in fifteen minutes so he decided to sit back some more before going to meet with Robert in, say, half an hour or so. He sighed contently and took a bite out of his cookie before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

**I sincerely hope you all liked it. Thank you for reading and feel free to leave a message if you like. Special thanks to all people who did so on previous episodes of my soap opera.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Dearest readers of this story,  
I am so sorry for never updating. I'm having a really hard time writing at the moment, not to mention that my parents sort of banished me from fanfiction (So I'm here illegally) and the best point of all: I have a boyfriend. So I'm occupied with other things.  
Of course I will finish this story eventually, but I am afraid that the updating time will be even slower than before, since I have no clue where this story is heading. I hope that all of you will stick with me until the very end.**

**Apart form that I'd like to warn you for the content of this chapter. It's nothing too bad, but I myself find it rather disturbing, so hereby, consider yourselves warned.**

**I hope you like it,**

**

* * *

**

The visitors hour was almost at an end. _'only thirteen more minutes, only thirteen more minutes'_ was the mantra Chase chanted mentally, counting the seconds until the extremely worried family members and friends would finally be forced to leave the hospital. He yearned for a quiet moment, a little time for himself so that he could process everything that had happened today. The Aussie pushed the door open with his left elbow, since both his hands were occupied. In his left hand was a pair of medical files and in his right was a cup of tea from the dispenser downstairs. The patient, a girl named Meredith, looked up from the Barbie doll she was playing with and waved at him, a gesture that made her father notice the doctor's entry.

"Doctor." The man nodded, his brown eyes worried. Chase nodded in return, motioning for the man to continue. "When can my daughter go home again?"

"That's difficult to say, sir. It depends upon her reaction to the chemotherapy. It is very probable that she will get rather sick because of it, and when that is the case, we usually keep her here for a little longer. But if we're lucky she should be able to go home after a week or so."

"And the treatment starts when?"

"In one and a half week, sir."

"You see, I'd like to have her home for her birthday in nine days."

Chase smiled sadly. "I'll do anything in my power to make that possible."

Meredith's father thanked him and he left the room again. He hated this. It was absolutely unfair for children to get so ill. Even if the survival rates were relatively hopeful, no innocent person should suffer so badly. At times like this he even doubted the existence of God, but then again, if life was only ever an overdose of happy, happy, joy, joy, you wouldn't notice your contentedness due to lack with experience with anything less. His mind lingered on the topic for some more time, until he decided that it was to early to be having these philosophical discussions, even if they took place in his head only.

The blond took a gulp of tea as he turned the corner, promising himself to bring his own, proper tea to the conference room tomorrow, since this one tasted like sweaty socks with an overdose of herbs. His favorite teas were Chinese Oolong tea, Earl Grey tea and a melange containing cinnamon of which he'd forgotten the name.

When he looked up he saw the slim figure of Cuddy making it's way towards him. She smiled and nodded to him.

"Dr. Chase."

"Dr. Cuddy." He returned the greeting.

"I'm glad to see that at least someone in the diagnostics department is wearing their coat." She smiled.

He grinned, always enjoying the everlasting quarrel between his boss and the dean of medicine. He wondered ifthey would ever notice their mutual affection and perhaps even attraction. "I wanted to ask you whether there was anything I need to know concerning the patients. The visitors hour is nearly over and if there are no matters that require my immediate attention, I'd like to go home".

"Nothing we can't handle. But I do have a favor to ask." When Cuddy nodded he continued. "You know that girl, Meredith Parker? It's her birthday next week and her father asked me if she'd be able to go home. Is there any way to have her receive the cancer treatment tomorrow morning?"

Cuddy bit her lip. "I'm not sure, but I can try. I think that mister Carlton is scheduled for tomorrow. If you can arrange it with him, I'm fine with it."

"Thanks a lot. And I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good luck tonight." She turned around and headed for her office, retrieved her coat and walked out of the hospital.

Chase started searching the patient files he was carrying after having tossed the empty cup into the bin. "McArthur… no… Dickinson… Walker… ah, Carlton." Chase murmured to himself. After having found the correct file, he checked the room number and headed towards the stairs.

Having arrived at the correct room, the Aussie straightened his tie and pushed his hair behind his ears before knocking on the door. After the 'Come in' by one of the inhabitants he pushed the door open and greeted the two patients. He grabbed one of the chairs that were meant for the visitors and moved towards the old man in the bed at the right.

"So mister Carlton, how are you doing?"

Mr. Carlton shot Chase a dirty look, dislike radiating from him like heat from a microwave. "What do you want? Are you here to tell me I'm going to die? Or perhaps some more cheerful news, like the upcoming hospital bills?"

Chase's heart sunk at that sneer, but he felt that he had to give it a try at least. "Nothing like that sir. I have a request. You see, there is a girl in this hospital who was recently diagnosed with cancer, but she isn't scheduled to start her treatment until end next week. You on the other hand, are starting tomorrow. I would like to ask you if you'd want to change with her so she'll be able to celebrate her birthday at home?" As soon as he had reached the part telling him how her treatment started in one and a half week, the man's face turned acid and his attention turned away from the doctor in front of him. He snorted and waved his hand, as if Chase were but a nasty fly. The blond slumped his shoulders. "Very well then, I'm sorry that I bothered you with this." He turned around, replacing the hospital chair next to the bedside table, and moved towards the door. A faint 'doctor' from the lady in the other bed stopped him.

"How can I be of any help, miss?" He spoke and stood by her bed. She smiled and coughed, her cheeks reddening as she took in his appearance. He felt rather uncomfortable if people behaved like that around him, so he broke the tension by asking if he could help again, before handing her a glass of water.

"Please call me Jasmine. And yes, you can help me. What exactly are the dangers of postponing chemotherapy?"

Was she saying what he thought she was?

"Is it life threatening?" She insisted, when he merely gazed at her.

"For the moment… no. But there is only one basic rule when it comes to starting the treatment and that is: the sooner, the better." He answered truthfully.

"If I swap with her, will I be able to be home before the end of the Ramadan? I'd like to celebrate Id-Ul-Fitr with my family and friends."

Oh, the Ramadan. That explained the full plates of food returned to the kitchen during the day and the very healthy appetite after the sun had set. And apparently she wasn't wearing the veil in order to cover up the loss of hair either.

"I see no reason why that would be impossible, but I beg you to think it through. I'm sure the girls parents will really appreciate it, but you should take your own health into consideration."

She smiled. "I'll do it."

"Are you completely sure?" He asked again. When she confirmed, he thanked her and went to arrange it all. Firstly he went back to the office to fetch all the papers and a pencil. It was one of his own, since the rest of the department had held a passionate plea for him not to destroy their writing utensils. The yellow layer of paint was almost completely gone, scratched off with the metal around the pink eraser that used to be at the end of it. The paint tasted horrible, not to mention the little pieces of it that remained in his mouth after chewing on it. Chase crinkled his nose when he merely thought of it.

The blond doctor sat down at the table and began carefully filling out all the forms, with both Jasmine's and Meredith's files at hand. When he was finished and looked at the clock, he noticed how the visitors hour was long over and he smiled. Deciding to place the papers into Cuddy's mailbox at once, he stood up, turned off the lights, closed the door and started walking towards her office. The only noises in the corridors were television sets and coughing patients, which, together with the sparse light, created a rather gloomy atmosphere. It reminded the Aussie of a horror movie he'd once watched, all by himself. It had cost him a week's worth of sleep and he'd firmly sworn never to watch horror movies again.

He grinned to himself as he walked by Vogler's office, thinking that it was becoming a horror movie indeed. Surely, Vogler, the serial killer, was hiding in the shadows, waiting for exactly the right time to attack, torture and kill him, before dragging his corps into the forest and burning it. Still smiling he reached Cuddy's office and was about to deposit the envelope containing all papers into her mailbox when he heard a voice.

"What is it, Robert?"

It was Vogler.

The smile slipped off his face and it took him only a fraction of a second to tense up and force his muscles to relax again, in order to fool the big chairman. Blast! Why hadn't the man just gone home at five p.m.? Surely there were enough people to take your night duty if you donated one hundred million dollars to a hospital,

The intensivist slowly turned around and looked the other man into his eyes. "I'm trying to arrange a shift in the treatment schedule of the oncology department, sir. I've filled out all the forms and was just about to place them in Dr. Cuddy's mailbox."

Vogler raised his eyebrows. "Why didn't you just come to me? I'm sure I have the appropriate authority to assess this request, being the new chairman and all."

"Sir, I wasn't aware of the fact that you were still in the hospital at this hour." Chase's eyes flitted towards the stairs and then swiftly back to his feet. "If you want to have the forms…." He turned his right hand so that Vogler could easily grab the envelope.

"Robert, Robert, Robert…." Vogler sighed. "How many times must I ask you to call me Edward? Now come, follow me and I'll see what I can do for you." He took the papers and lead Chase towards his office, which the younger man had passed only minutes ago.

The Aussie swallowed, but decided that he had no other choice and he followed the dark man, his breathing kicked up a notch.

Speaking of irony….

During the almost too short walk he forced himself to calm down, or at least, come across completely relaxed. And he did fairly well. A serene expression graced his features and his stance was completely relaxed, confident even. Chase wasn't sure why he did it though. Nobody was there to watch him and even if Vogler would have looked around, which he didn't, the man had seen him at worse moments anyway.

Together they entered Vogler's office. The older man turned on the lights, closed the door and motioned for the other to sit down whilst he went to get two cups of tea and his jar of cookies. When he came back, he sat down next to Chase, sipped his tea and studied the younger man's face.

"So, what's your business on…" he glanced at some kind of schedule for a moment, searching for something, "Tuesday the nineteenth of January?"

Chase frowned. "I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what you're referring to, sir." He spoke, but hastily amended the last part of his sentence when he caught sight of Vogler's expression. "I mean, um… Edward."

Vogler's face settled into an expression of fake polite disbelief. "But I'm sure Dr. House said that the date was inconvenient for you. That _that_ was the reason why you two swapped your night duty." He watched with satisfaction as the blond desperately tried to think of an excuse, to talk things right. The young man utterly failed.

"There is something I don't understand though." He spoke, after a good minute of silence. Chase frowned, so he elaborated. "Why does everybody keep protecting House? I mean, nobody likes him, so why don't you all just tell him to fuck off?" The eyes of the man opposite him grew big, staring at him, but he ignored it and continued. "Why don't you just help me instead?"

"Excuse me, but liking isn't the same as respecting. I might not want to have House as my best friend, but he is a great doctor and working for him is the best thing that ever happened to me. Even though it's his nature to bully people, he's never done anything really bad to me and I intend to return the favor. I respect him deeply."

Vogler snorted. "How touching. But unfortunately, it wasn't a question, Robert. I want you to inform me about House's coming and going."

The Aussie's confidence faltered, but he managed to give the other a firm 'No!'.

"Don't do this to me, Robert." The chairman sighed and he reached out a hand to push some of Chase's golden locks behind his left ear.

The young man instantly went completely rigid and he muttered 'no' again, but this time it had nothing to do with him spying on his superior. His eyes widened as he felt Vogler's hand softly trace the line of his jaw and he shoved his chair backwards, meaning to take a run for it, but the chairman's hand had circled his wrist in the blink of an eye and he was yanked back a mere second after getting up. Vogler pushed him against the wall and he could feel that his shoulder would bruise, along with both his wrists the other man was crushing with his hands.

"Listen to me, boy." The older man spat. "You will do as I say!"

Chase shook his head and Vogler elbowed him in the chest. He gasped for breath and tried to double over, but was kept pushed against the wall by his opponent's massive form. His breathing became shallow and he panicked, kicking his legs and thrashing his arms in a desperate attempt to get out of the current situation.

"Please, E-Edward, let me go." The Aussie's voice was higher than it was usually and his breathing was short and loud.

"If you don't do what I tell you to, I refuse to let you go." The chairman spoke, sliding his large hand down Chase's side and leaving it of the young man's hip. "You are in no position to bargain."

Tears were starting to form in the intensivist's eyes, but he stubbornly bit them back, leaving only a glimmer of them reflecting the light. Vogler smiled and stroked his blond hair, before leaning in, moving his mouth closer to Chase's ear. "It'll be easier if you just give in." He whispered playfully, replacing his hand on the smaller man's hip. The young man forced his lips together and shook his head again, but his shoulders were slumped and his head hung. Vogler was sure that he'd won this round. He let his hand slide a little lower and smirked as he felt the Aussie's body tense again. "You know I'll win this, Robert. Search your feelings, you know it to be true."

Finally the pale man nodded, clearly despising himself for it, and the chairman loosened his grip. "Now be a good boy and don't mention this to anyone. It'll only cause you more trouble and you know that they won't believe you this time either." When the intensivist swallowed and nodded again, he smiled and took a step back. "Thank you Robert, I really appreciate this." He sat down and grabbed the envelope that was still on his desk. "You can be sure that this will be arranged by tomorrow morning. You may go now."

Still a little unsteady on his feet, Chase walked out of the office, closed the door and returned to the diagnostics department. There he sat down on the floor, lights off, and he finally let the tears flow.

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**Thank you for reading. I hope that I didn't disappoint you too much. Feedback is still very much appreciated.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello dearest readers. The time between my updates is growing longer and longer, a fact for which I apologize sincerely. I want to thank all of you for the reviews. The last chapter was to most reviewed so far (apart from the first one). I'm very glad that you like the story and I hope I can keep fulfilling your expectations.**

**I especially want to thank those readers that left a review. I always appreciate messages and especially when you are all so supportive. I try to always reply to the reviews I get, but I can't when they are anonymous, so 'guess': Thanks a lot. **

**This chapter has not been checked for errors by my sister, whose English is much better than mine, so I hope reading it will not be too much of a hell. And if you recognize the text: yes, I did borrow a lot from the show. I repeat: I don't own. I wish I would.**

**I hope you'll enjoy the chapter.**

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Even though he was tired, Chase had managed to keep his eyes open up till now. Foreman, Cameron, House and he himself were walking down the hallway towards one of the hospital rooms. Not only did they have a new patient, which was a rarity in itself, but it was a mobster on top of all. House had just informed them about the man and, as usual, the process of diagnosing started with a superficial calling out of random diseases that could be a cause for the man's current state.

"Causes of coma: metabolic, structural…" Foreman started the dance.

Chase raised one eyebrow at a fact he was reading in the file. "He had his stomach pumped! Why would they do that?" He looked at House questioningly.

The brilliant diagnostician told him that they needed to rule out poisoning, with a face as if that was completely normal. Something the other three didn't agree with.

"Huh. Not the typical first guess." It was the blond man that had the guts to say something about it. After which his boss started to explain how "Joey" was a federal witness and that he himself had expected the guy to be faking his coma. But after testing him excessively by holding his Nintendo DS besides the mobster's ear, he had concluded that it was real.

After the team had questioned him a bit further on the possible causes, the four of them arrived at their destination: Joey's room. When they wanted to enter House sent them off to perform an MRI scan and anything else they could come up with, since, from the looks of it, the government would be paying this one. Grinning, he closed the door in their faces.

A few hours later Chase had listened to Cameron's declaration of undying love for House, which made him roll his eyes as he tried to explain that House never liked anyone, and that sane people didn't like House either. Only afterwards he realized that he might have insulted her by saying that. Also, as the diagnosis of the mysterious man went on, they had had the shock of their lives when the patient just snapped out of his coma without any treatment. Currently the four of them were in the elevator, going back to their office, discussing the possible release of their patient.

"He's okay now, he can leave." The intensivist tried, but without much fire. And indeed, his boss immediately told him that Joey was going nowhere because the cause of the coma had not yet been found or solved. The handsome doctor replied. "The hematoma caused the coma." But when both Cameron and Foreman had told House that their medical opinion was that the man should be released and House had implied that Cameron was still pissed at him for not liking her back, the crippled man made his way into the clinic, stating that he was still the one in charge and that they should listen to him, ordering some more tests.

Chase's shoulders slumped. He was so tired and he had hoped that, if the patient were discharged, he would get some free time, which he could use to restore his energy. For now it seemed that he was stuck with another cup of tea.

"I'm getting some tea. Would anyone of you like some too?" He told his coworkers, but they denied so he set of towards the dispenser on his own. He grabbed a mug and poured some hot water from the machine into it. Placing the mug on the nearest stable surface, which happened to be the top of the vending machine, he rummaged through his bag, looking for his tea. He was rather pleased with himself for finally bringing his own brand to work and having dipped the teabag into the water, he reveled in the odor the steaming beverage emitted.

His closed eyes snapped open and he accidentally spilled half of his tea when all of a sudden Vogler's voice sounded, somewhere close to his right ear.

"Doctor Chase. I was wondering if you could help me out with a file that Doctor Cuddy gave me. I came across something that I didn't fully understand and just then I saw you walking past my office." The older man made an inviting move with his hand, motioning for Chase to follow him to his office.

The intensivist nodded, his eyes still wide open with the shock. Meekly he followed Vogler into his office, already catching the drift of the conversation that was coming up. He stood near the other man's desk whilst Vogler closed his door and checked if the blinds were shut, which they were. Five heavy footsteps indicated that the chairman had made his way towards the Australian, a hypothesis that was confirmed by the large, warm hand that was placed upon his shoulder. Chase tensed and he was sure that he heard Vogler chuckle.

The dark man cleared his throat. "I heard that the diagnostics department has a new patient."

For a very short moment the other was relieved, believing that perhaps, there was no need for him to betray his boss, but when he was forcefully spun around to face his superior and saw the look in his eyes, all hope left him.

"I accidentally found out when your boss came to bug Lisa about it." The big man spoke, placing one hand on Chase's cheek. Chase flinched and tried and failed to pull away. Instead, Vogler pulled him even closer, enjoying the sparkle of fear that was clearly visible in the young man's eyes. "Tell me all about it, Robert."

Chase shook his head slightly and Vogler had to admire the Aussie's courage, but he refused to take no as an answer. "Robert, I'm warning you." And then when the blond man still refused to speak, he balled his fist and struck him in the face.

Chase recoiled with a hurt look in his eyes, that was indicating both his physical and mental pain, as Vogler knew very well. He knew how Rowan Chase had been towards his son when the latter was still underage and within reach. To his immense satisfaction he noticed a certain defeated look about the intensivist and he was not at all surprised that information started leaking out, instead, he was really pleased with himself and he made a mental note of this key.

When the chairman was pleased with the things Chase had unwillingly supplied him with, he told the shivering man to get some more tea and get back to work. When his demands were met, he made for his office and got out the phone, his fingers forming the number of admitting.

Meanwhile, Chase went back to the room that Joey was in, intending to help the other two ducklings with all diagnostic tests House had come up with. After having splashed some water into his face, he entered the room and gave Cameron a hand by collecting the blood samples she had taken and walking them to the lab. On returning he found that Joey's bed was empty. He shot a shocked look at his coworkers, who stared back in much the same fashion.

"What happened? Where's Joey?" He asked.

Cameron replied. "They released him. Apparently Vogler knew that he'd woken up and the man called admitting." Both Foreman and Cameron eyed him suspiciously, as he was the only one to have left the room. Inwardly he cursed his timing.

"What do we do now?"

"I paged House, we'll see what he'll be able to do." Foreman answered, and surely, House was making his way into the room.

"What happened? Where is he?" The diagnostician was clearly pissed off.

Foreman, being the responsible one, told House all he knew. "Vogler called admitting, admitting called Justice, Justice came and took him away."

"And who called Vogler?" House countered. And before he knew, all eyes were fixed upon Chase. He looked at Chase, looked into his youngest fellow's eyes and decided that the Australian had something to do with it. He wasn't exactly sure what role the man played, but something in his eyes showed an anomaly. And figuring out the cause of one of them anomalies was his strength.

Only a very short period of time later, Joey was wheeled back in, as he collapsed in his very unhealed state. The diagnosis continued and the team once again found itself in their office, figuring out what could possibly cause this man's symptoms. The discussion was getting heated.

"His liver's worse." The intensivist mentioned.

"Comatose?" House asked, not satisfied about the information they'd given him up till now.

Cameron answered. "No, completely different symptoms than the first time."

"Serology tests came back positive for Hep-C." said Chase, clearly convinced that they had the answer already. But House disagreed.

"Hep-C is a chronic condition. You don't think this is an acute situation?"

"Coma, vomiting, abdominal pain, Hep-C explains everything."

"Except for the suddenness of the onset." House wouldn't bust.

Then Foreman decided to enter the discussion. "What's wrong with the timing?"

House threw in one of his famous metaphors. "You get home one night. Your wife hits you with a baseball bat. Likely cause is the fact you haven't thanked her for dinner in eight years, or the receipt for fur handcuffs she found in your pants. Sudden onset equals proximate cause."

"He also has high estrogen levels in his blood. That's indicative of a chronic condition, not acute." The intensivist replied, too stubborn to believe in his boss's diagnosis.

"One test. What do his other liver tests tell us?" House was trying to diminish the significance of the test results.

Cameron replied, having done the other test herself. "Normal albumen levels point toward acute."

"Uh-huh. And why is her test better than mine?" Chase asked. He was rather hurt by the fact that House seemed to diminish the importance of his work and he didn't understand. If the man had Hep-C wouldn't it be reasonable to treat his for said condition?

"Because she's cuter. Though it's close. Do a liver biopsy. When the results come back we'll know what we're looking at." House ordered them away, but the blond doctor stood up for his own idea. Or rather for the sake of the patient's health.

"Why wait to treat the Hep-C? If I'm right, Joey gets better that much faster."

House grudgingly agreed, because the idea was completely sensible. If he wasn't trying to keep the mobster, or federal witness, in the hospital, he would have been the first to start treatment. His eyed trailed behind his youngest fellow, watching his hair dance to the rhythm of his step. Something was off about Chase. Something was not the way it should be, and he was going to find out.

Meanwhile Chase was ultrasounding Joey's liver, explaining himself to the hovering, overprotective brother who was scrutinizing his actions. "The blood tests show you have Hepatitis C. It's a virus that infects the liver."

"No way." Came the aggravated reply from Bill, Joey's brother.

Chase misunderstood the emotion behind the reply and tried to ease both men's minds. "Well, it's not all bad news. It can often be cured, and even if not, it's manageable."

"How'd my brother get this?" Bill was clearly not convinced that his brother had done anything wrong, so as to become ill. It was almost like he hoped that Joey had been poisoned, or something."

"Usually it involves the exchange of bodily fluids, the, uh…" Chase babbled on. Not realizing the danger that lay in an angry mobster.

"Bodily fluids, what are you talking about?"

Chase proceeded. But now he was more cautious. "There are many ways the virus can be transmitted. Sharing needles, blood transfusions…"

Bill understood where this was going and he tried to stop it. "Hey!" he yelled. He stood up and threateningly pointed his finger towards Chase's face. "Nobody talks to my brother like this, okay?"

The Aussie caught on to the mood of the patient's brother and decided to drop the subject and simply start the treatment. "Fine. I've no idea how he got it. But he has Hepatitis-C. We're going to start him on Interferon."

Before he could complete his soliloquy Bill moved closer and punched him in the face.

"He doesn't have it, don't mention it again, don't treat him for it."

Chase looked up at the mobster angrily, but said nothing in fear of being struck again. That was the second time that day, first Vogler and now this. He was becoming a punch bag again. Slowly, he raised his hand up to his face and removed his blond locks from his eyes, gently feeling up the tender skin. He could almost feel the bruise that he was sure was beginning to form. Unable to protest in any way, he left the room without further ado.

It was no big surprise that, several hours later when House had started the Hep-C treatment by promising the patient complete confidentiality, the patient wasn't healing at all. So the ducklings and mommy goose found themselves in the diagnostics office once again.

"Biopsy's back. Two findings. Number one: lymphatic infiltrate and no bridging fibrosis." The game was commenced by House.

Foreman started the educated guessing he was trained and hired for. "Well, whatever's killing him is not Hep-C. It's acute."

"Who said that? I forget. What are you doing here? I told you you were off the case." House was being an annoying bastard again, trying to figure out who had been talking to Vogler. Chase swallowed and tried not to blush, a feat he managed to achieve unexpectedly.

The quarrel between Foreman and House continued as Foreman took his turn. "Right. Your diabolic plan to convince the evil genius he's in the clear so he'll let his guard down and make a fatal mistake, sure."

"Well, it's clearly not going to work now."

Chase was having some trouble being inconspicuous so he decided that charge would be the best defense at the moment. "What evil genius?" the Aussie asked.

House answered. "If we knew that, then we wouldn't need a diabolic plan now, would we?"

Foreman tried to get him to confess. "House thinks someone ratted him out to Vogler." The tone he used made it clear that the oldest duckling thought he knew who the guilty one was. To which Chase decided to play the ignorant man by asking if Foreman thought it was one of them. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a mistake to utter them. Foreman's gaze became even colder. Trying to shift the topic of the conversation, the young doctor returned to actually diagnosing the patient.

"All right, look, if it's not the Hep-C, then what's the problem? What's causing the liver failure?"

And to his relief, House joined, which made sure that the other two would too. "Finding number two: toxins."

"No. He's only 30 years old and his job doesn't expose him to heavy metals or environmental…" Cameron said something for the first time.

" He's a 30-year-old mobster. He doesn't have a job that results in accidental exposure to toxins, he has a job that results in intentional exposure to toxins. Someone's poisoned him."

With that, House ended the discussion and gave the green light for continuing the diagnosis.

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**I'd appreciate feedback and I'll update as soon as I have time for it, but my finals start in half a week and I need to plough through at least 500 pages of boringness, and I don't even mention the other two finals I need to prepare.**

**I wish all of you a very pleasant holiday**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi everyone. I'm glad to tell you all that I've done really well on my finals. I passed all 4 of them, and even though one of the marks wasn't exactly what you call good, I'm still fairly satisfied. Also, I'm proud to tell you that I've finally written you another chapter. This one should be proceeded by some warning, though. It contains material that can be shocking, not to mention triggering, for some people. If you do no like to read it, but want to know what happened in the story so you can keep up in later chapters, message me, and I'll give you a recap.**

**Like the previous chapter, a large part of this one was based on an actual episode. Everything you recognize is not mine. I wish I'd own House, because that would mean that episodes continued way more Chase.**

**Thanks for all the support and thanks to my sister, who beta-ed this for me. Hopefully that will leave you a chapter that's better than the last one. I hope you'll like reading this one. Feel free to leave a message.**

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Not too much time later, the ducklings and their guide met up again to discuss Joey's current condition. Apparently the mobster was deteriorating fast. "Whatever this toxin is, it's doing its job and fast. How long do we have until the next round of test results?" House asked.

"About four hours." The Australian doctor replied, but he was interrupted by Foreman almost immediately, who stated that Joey's liver would only last for another two. The team decided that he would need a new one, but obviously two hours was way to short a time to acquire an organ. These situations were the ones in which House was his best and, indeed, he came with a bizarre, but probably life saving idea.

Before he knew what was going on, the mobster was hooked up to a pig with all kinds of tubes. Bill was confused so Chase explained the treatment House had come up with. "We just take the blood out of Joey's body and run it through a pig. The pig's liver does what Joey's can't, cleans the blood, which we send right back to him."

"And the pig makes him better?"

The Aussie's face fell and he carefully answered the question. "No, just buys us some time to figure out what's poisoning your brother."

Bill indicated the pig with a nudge of his head and snorted: "Like you do this all the time?" Making Chase grin and replied that they basically had a barn in the basement.

Foreman and Cameron were in the lab, working on finding out whether Joey had been poisoned, and if so, by what. Cameron looked up from her current, obviously finished test. "Cross off hemlock."

Foreman looked at her as if she was wearing a pink My Little Pony T-shirt. "You thought he was being poisoned by hemlock? Dr. Euripides tell you to check for that?" He all but sneered at her.

The immunologist was used to the boy's bantering by now, so instead of being insulted, like she would have been were it months earlier, she cocked an eyebrow and threw a remark back. "Grows wild by the highways out here."

The other decided that it wasn't worth the trouble of continuing the discussion, especially now that Cameron had decided to grow up a little, and changed the subject to one they were all very interested in. "How much do you like House?" He asked, trying to wheedle information out of his coworker. Where Cameron herself might have used subtle, and House less subtle, manipulation, the dark man had enough self confidence that he just asked if she was betraying their boss.

Cameron didn't answer directly, but tried shoving suspicion onto the other duckling. "Chase has a big mouth." It fell of her lips almost casually, feeling that her conversation partner would probably share her opinion. She knew he disliked the Australian doctor due to his being good looking and having a rich dad who probably paid for everything. And she wasn't disappointed.

"Yeah. He's probably the one who ratted to Vogler."

The young woman took a metaphorical step back. "I don't think that he would…" She started saying, trying to make Foreman forget the way she had so quickly spoken badly of Chase. Foreman wasn't really interested though. He could care less if Cameron decided to toughen up a bit. Hell, it might even do her some good. No, the actual reason he started this conversation was because he had, like Chase, noticed that Cameron had a thing for their boss. It wasn't so much that he'd noticed, more like she just shoved it into their faces. And he was disgusted. Not only disgusted but also thoroughly confused and, though he didn't want to admit it, extremely curious. So he continued his inquiry. "Does it hurt when you're with House? Little pain in the tummy, but it sort of feels good, too?"

Cameron pretended to be insulted, but he could easily spot that she was discussing this all too willingly. "I don't have the right to show interest in someone?" She said, trying to be dignified about it, but utterly failing.

The neurologist was pleased. She had taken the bait and going exactly where he wanted her to go. "You absolutely do, and I absolutely have the right to humiliate you for it."

Behind them, the door swung open, causing the both of them to look up and see the very subject of their conversation walking in. Cameron blushed, but Foreman cursed the man for his timing. Every time he got close to an answer, something came up to disturb him.

House winked at Cameron. "Anything?"

Due to said female Doctor almost fainting, Foreman took the liberty of replying to that question. "White blood count's low; probably a result of the illness, nothing to connect to the liver."

House turned towards his eldest duckling, more serious now. "Is he a smoker?"

The immunologist had recovered from her sudden attack of butterflies and got involved in the conversation again. "Let me check."

Whilst Cameron was scanning Joey's file, House took a look at the chest x-ray they had recently acquired. "Early signs of emphysema. He's been smoking at least a dozen years."

Cameron looked up, perplexed and awed at the genius of her boss and crush. "18. You got that from the white count?" She seemed to almost worship him.

House denied, in a very cheerful way. "Nope, got that from the chest x-ray. White count just tells me he's quitting." The diagnostician got up and limped over to Cameron, looking over her shoulder in order to check the patient's file and see if he was right. Cameron seemed to tense up, but in a good way. A blush was making it's way towards her cheeks again, a reaction that House noticed but chose to ignore. He also noticed the slight tremor in her voice when she addressed him. "Two weeks ago."

Glad that she confirmed his diagnosis, House left the room, leaving behind a love struck woman and a quite amused man. "How's your tummy?" Foreman asked, rubbing it in even more.

Cameron didn't take the bait. "Flat and taut." She replied, before following her boss' example and leaving the lab.

Meanwhile House had figured out, by combining the smoking and the hep-C treatment, that Joey was being poisoned by his anti smoking tablets; House had gone sucking up to Vogler and Cuddy in order to keep his job and Joey had slipped back into yet another coma, leaving the entire team dumbstruck and clueless as to where to search now.

After pulling a fire truck and a cat out of a little boy's nose, House had retreated to his office, where he was passing time by yo-yoing by the whiteboard, thinking about the mysterious disease the mobster was suffering from. Mumbling to himself he was tracing all the possibilities and all the symptoms that stood out. "Most types of coma you just don't snap out of." He said, making the yo-yo drop and pulling it up again, not even looking up when his youngest minion entered the room and started talking to him.

"He's not snapping out of this one, he's not improving. You crossed out estrogen, you've got an explanation?" The accented voice rang though the thick atmosphere of thoughtfulness and dark mood, lightening it by just a fraction.

That was enough for House to turn around and acknowledge the Aussie's presence, before replying, be it in a rather short tempered way. "Yes, I have. A very simple one."

Chase waited for a short period of time, before running out of patience and demanding an answer. "And?"

The diagnostician had long before decided that it was Chase who was talking to Vogler and no longer trusted him with any information that was potentially interesting for the chairman. "It's private."

The intensivist's face dropped. He was disappointed that House figured that he was the one not to be trusted. It didn't matter that the man was, as usual , right about it. This hurt. "You think I'm the one running to Vogler." The bitterness in his eyes was not missed by his boss. The man just didn't care for the person that was betraying him like this. Especially not when he kept denying it. "You're currently top of the list. Toxic comas, person's away from the cause long enough and they recover." House rubbed it in again, before answering the question Chase had posed to begin with.

The blond answered, trying to contribute to the process of diagnosing the mobster, before trying to convince House of his innocence. "The feds checked for poisons, we checked for poisons. I didn't do it." He failed at both.

" It's not a poison, then."

"An allergy, then. Did you hear me?" Chase was getting desperate. Why, o why was he forced into this position. Even though it sounded weird and improbable, House was the one person that he trusted here in America. Even though the man was a cold bastard, Chase always felt that he could count on him and it was hard betraying his trust like this.

House completely ignored his fellow's words and only focused on the medical difficulties. "How about a food sensitivity?"

Chase sighed and answered his bosses medical assumptions before trying to convince the man of his innocence one last time. "All of his food is strictly controlled. There's no correlation between his meals and his condition. He had steak and potatoes before the first coma, and the hospital served fish sticks before the second one. You can trust me."

The attempt was rudely discarded. "Problem is, if I can't trust you, I can't trust your statement that I can trust you. But thanks anyway, you've been a big help." And with that House left his Aussie behind in the conference room.

At the end of the day the case was solved. Apparently the mobster was actually gay, a feat not often seen in circles like those, or sooner, not often found out in those circles. Mobsters weren't exactly known for their tolerance. Taking some high estrogen pills had caused all the extra symptoms and quitting those together with telling the man that he needed to cut back on the proteins made one more healthy man in this world. House was glad that he'd solved the case, but something kept bugging him. Vogler was messing with him and it bothered him to no end.

He was absolutely sure that it was Chase who was passing along information. He'd suspected it from the beginning, seeing that the blond Doctor was a terrible liar, but after the conversation the two had shared in the conference room, he had no doubt whatsoever. It hurt him. He'd always thought that Chase was the one he could trust the most. If he would have had to guess who'd betrayed him without any knowledge he would have said Foreman. Cameron was in love with him, she'd never, and Foreman was usually in disagreement with House over his medical decisions. Chase was too much of a pansy to go running to Vogler. Foreman was the perfect candidate and yet, House had never doubted _him_ for a second.

Something was off though. The diagnostician didn't understand it in the least. Why would Chase engage with Vogler when he could see the pain in the Aussie's eyes when House confronted him with it? Why would he be disloyal to the one person he could get along with? The three legged man wished that he would know what was going on. Being the stubborn genius he was, House decided that he had to find out what was going on behind his back. He had to unveil this mystery, before it was taking, not only himself, but also Chase and the hospital down.

Chase sat on the couch in his apartment. The television set was on, displaying a few people interacting, but the golden-haired man's eyes were not watching. They were fixed upon the piece of white wall above the screen, but the man was not absorbing any information from the outside world. He was completely still, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, his back resting against the back of the piece of furniture.

All of a sudden, he violently jerked his head to one side, his eyes clouded with fear. He blinked a few times and seemed to return to the real world. When he realized he was alone, in his own home, he let go of the breath he was holding and sat up straight again. This cycle repeated every ten minutes or so.

Vogler's hands kept feeling him up. He knew perfectly well that he was safe and that Vogler was nowhere near, but it was so real. The beefy hand tracing his jaw, moving down his chest until…. No, he didn't want to think about that. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on something else, but he couldn't. The smell of Vogler's breath, the warmth of his hands, his chocolate eyes, piercing the Aussies own peculiar green-blue ones with a combination of hate and lust. Chase's muscles tensed and his breathing quickened noticeably.

The agony hurt. Being so tense made his stomach hurt and his thoughts go wild. He needed to calm down, he needed to calm down very soon, before he started hyperventilating. He tried to meditate _again_. Closing his eyes he tried to control his breathing and think about nothing but calm thoughts, but it didn't work. Every time he got close, those hands would roam his body again. Those eyes would pierce the protective layer he'd built around himself. He started gasping for breath, making wheezing sounds, and his heart was beating so fast it was more of a flutter than a proper beat. He doubled, trying to catch his breath. It hurt, it hurt so bad.

He stood up. He needed to do something. He stumbled towards the door and made his hand into a fist, before hitting it against the frame. A sharp sting shot through his arm. At first he wanted to curse the pain. More pain was not something he could use right now. Then he noticed how the other pain, his shortness of breath and the stress seemed to diminish when he was in pain. He hit the door frame again, but the second time wasn't nearly as satisfying as the first. This got him panicking again, but this time, there was a part of his brain that stayed clear and focused. He deliberated for a moment, trying to decide the best way to cope with this. Deciding he needed to feel the physical pain more than be stuck with the hyperventilation and the other painful side effects of his mental state, he walked to his bedroom and started searching for his Swiss army knife. Ironic that it should come to this. Ironic that it was his dad who had given him the knife in the first place.

Sliding down the wall, he yanked up his sleeve and popped the knife out. It was in perfect condition of course. He barely ever used it, and when he did, he made sure that it was more than clean when he put it back. His mum always told him that he was scarily neat. His dad tried to send him to a psychiatrist to get rid of his OCD. He snorted and pushed the cold metal against his arm, savoring the coolness of it against his seemingly hot skin. Chase hesitated for a moment. Did he really want to do this? But then the anxiety hit him again, full-blown. He took a deep breath and drew the knife over the crease of his elbow. It wasn't deep. He didn't have the guts to push harder, but it stung nonetheless. A drop of blood pearled on his arm. It was little, but just seeing it, calmed the intensivist more than he'd expected. All of a sudden, his airways seemed to open and his heart rate crept down. He sat there for a long time, reveling in the peace that seemed to have taken over his mind. Only when his eyes fell closed, did he get up, clean up and get ready for bed. He felt that he would sleep peacefully again for the first time in weeks. Closing his eyes, he drifted off, to the blank oblivion of sleep, and he slept until the alarm rang.

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**Thank you for reading. I hope to be able to update anytime soon.**

** By the way, did you guys know that it's possible to review your own story? I had a friend of mine staying over and when I told her I'd updated, she immediately wanted to read the chapter, on my computer. So when she left a review, it was with my name. Stupid huh?**

**And finally, I wish all of you a very nice holiday. And for those who don't have a holiday I wish you good luck at your jobs and schools, and remember: the weekend is never far away.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone. I'm back after another long wait. I'm glad you guys have so much patience with me.  
First of all, I'd like to thank everybody for reading and especially for reviewing. I received a grand total of 12 reviews for the last chapter, which is the second highest amount so far. I was really pleased with that. I hope you guys will review this time too. And to Bethany, the only reader to whom I couldn't reply, due to her submitting an anonymous review: Thank you very much. I appreciate it.**

**In this chapter we're finally closing the circle. We get back to the prologue in which House finds out about Chase's state of mind. A lot of this chapter will be recognizable for many of you. I've tried to use a different perspective so as not to bore you, and hopefully I've succeeded. Also I'd like to mention that the journey doesn't end here (Now, don't I sound like Gandalf?), but I haven't really decided which path I will take from now on. If any of you have suggestions or want to exercise any control, be my guest. **

**I hope you'll enjoy the chapter.**

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The weeks that followed were full of happenings. Apart from their usual one patient per week and the corresponding breaches of several basic human rights that said patients possessed, life outside treatments had been wild too. Topping it all, there had been a row in the board, resulting in the dismissal of Dr. Wilson and eventually in the leaving of Edward Vogler, and his 100 million dollars.

For Robert Chase, what stood out from the last weeks was not the loss of the money but the loss of House's trust. He knew he was a fool to believe that the brilliant diagnostician wouldn't notice that he was somehow involved with the former chairman of the board, but he had hoped that the man would remain ignorant about his betrayal.

Unfortunately House didn't need more than a week to figure out what was going on and he had made Chase's life living hell ever since. Finding all the causes of neck pain in the universe and being completely ignored with every, potentially valuable suggestion he gave, was just the beginning with it. He felt like being bullied in high school all over again. The jokes, the suggestive remarks, the guilt, it was driving him insane. All too soon the one angry red mark in the crease of the blonde's elbow was joined by more and more and his eyes were circled by a blue so dark it almost looked as if someone had given him a few good punches, to join the one on his cheek, where both Vogler and the mobster had hit him.

House walked into the diagnostics office, where Chase had been sitting. The Australian doctor flushed and looked at the books he was scanning, finding more causes of neck pain. Something in House's eyes hardened. He didn't understand why Chase had betrayed his trust. He liked the young man, even admired him at times, and never expected to be stabbed in the back like that. He didn't understand why people like Wilson kept trying to make him see the good in humanity, because obviously people couldn't be trusted.

Ignoring the handsome doctor, House went for his favorite chair and his video game. He turned up the sound and was so busy ignoring Chase that said man heard the virtual motorcycle crashing various times. Every part of House was screaming loathing towards him. So much that the intensivist had had enough. He could feel his carefully constructed facade crumbling so he did the only thing he could do in these circumstances. Mumbling a pathetic excuse, like needing to go to the bathroom, he got up and made his way towards the door, taking care not to make his agony visible to his boss. He walked out of the office and as soon as he was out of sight he broke into a near run, desperate to get away from the man he admired so much. The man who despised him with the same fervor.

At first, House merely shrugged when his subordinate left the room. After all, he could be going anywhere. To the bathroom, like he said, or to an empty broom cabinet, to get friendly with Dr. Cameron. It was House's belief that Chase and Cameron were very probably involved with one another, since they were the two most good-looking people he knew, including all the prostitutes he'd met. As the time passed, he scratched off the first option, and then, when Cameron entered the office several times, asking for some advice or a lead, and the Aussie still didn't show up, he scratched the second as well.

At a certain point, House decided he could no longer ignore the intuitive feeling that something was not quite right. There was this nagging voice in the back of his head that kept negating all the perfectly happy reasons for the intensivists absence and leaving him with a range of answers that varied from unlucky to downright horrible. The diagnostician got up, grabbed his cane and formulated a plan. Limping to the clinic he asked for one of the nurses that liked his fellow best. One of the nurses that most certainly had a crush on the handsome doctor.

"Hey, you! What's your name? Kitty? Kelly?" He called out to her.

Sighing, she took a few moments to compose herself before turning around and facing the most vile doctor in the country. "It's Kim. How can I help you, doctor House?"

He didn't bother to correct himself and used no more words than were absolutely necessary. "Fine. Have you seen Chase?"

She looked surprised at that question. House was about to turn away when she opened her mouth to tell him she hadn't, but another of Chase's admirers grudgingly stepped forward. It was another nurse. He believed her name was Mickey, or something similar. "Um, Dr. House?" she said shyly and waited for him to allow her to speak. He did. "I saw Dr. Chase walk by some time ago. I was on the top floor, making the beds and he walked by, without saying hello. Usually he does that, so I was curious as to what was going on." She blushed. "I followed him to the end of the corridor, but he was walking to the stairwell and I had my job to do. It was weird though. I could swear he'd just walked up the other stairs to get to the top level."

House didn't bother to thank her. He just turned around, as gracefully as a man walking with a cane can, and moved towards the elevators, leaving the nurses looking both stricken and somewhat relieved at their escape. He stepped into one of the elevators and punched the button that would lead him to the top floor. Thanks to his multiple exploring trips trough the hospital, he had a fairly good idea where Chase had been heading and cursed the blond man for it. There was no elevator that would take him to the roof, so he was going to have to crawl up the stairs. Popping a few Vicodin to diminish the pain that would all too surely come, he took a breath and made for those dreaded stairs. He grabbed the key from behind the fire extinguisher and started climbing up. It hurt like hell, but he barely noticed, his mind so occupied with the intensivist. He was feeling guilty. He would never admit it to anyone, but he used to care for the Australian, recognizing so much of himself in his behavior. He'd long suspected that something more was going on concerning the Vogler affair, but his rage when Chase had been the one that had betrayed him and the shattering of what little trust in humanity he had, had shoved those feelings to the back of his mind, leaving his more basic emotions to do everything in his power to hurt the Aussie as much as he himself had been hurt.

Now he saw that that might not have been the right thing to do.

It was so confusing. Even he, by many people considered to be the most brilliant diagnostician in modern times, didn't understand a thing of what had happened in the last weeks. Before Vogler had come and tried to get a hold of all the strings, House had been under the impression that Chase looked up to him, strove to be like him and did everything to get into his good books. Then, before he knew it, his youngest fellow had run to Vogler and blabbed. Was it because the kid preferred Vogler over him? Was is a simple question of power? Did he make a huge error in determining his duckling's norms and values? Neither of these suggestions were ones he hoped to be the cause of this.

Before he knew he'd reached the top of the stairs. Very carefully, so as not to notify his fellow that he'd been found, he opened the door and stepped onto the roof. He didn't have to look far to find his intensivist sitting down in the snow, back against one of the chimneys, facing the opposite direction and clearly shivering with the cold. House closed the door behind himself and just stood still, observing Chase, his feelings of guilt increasing by the second.

Even though this opportunity had revealed more of Chases feelings than House had found out about so far, he couldn't leave the fragile man sitting there, freezing. His lips were already turning blue and his form wasn't even shivering anymore. Carefully, the diagnostician limped towards his youngest duckling and placed a hand on his shoulder. Chases yelp made him jump and _he _had been expecting it, but it wasn't nearly as shocking as the look in the intensivists eyes.

"H-h-how long have y-you b-b-been here, H-house?"

He didn't reply, just looking at the young man in front of him. He was shocked, to say the least, but he managed to hide it fairly well. Watching how the resolve in the others eyes diminished and died, he cursed himself for not paying more attention.

Chase repeated the question. "H-h-house?".

It was sad. One part of him wanted to reach out to the young man. After all, he used to like the intensivist too. He even admired him at times. But on the other hand, he didn't want to be an agony aunt. Chase was an adult and he should be able to deal with his own problems, not to mention the fact that he, Greg House, usually all but ran off screaming when people would talk to him about their emotions.

Maybe he should put that aside. Chase never had proper parents, and when House looked at him a pang of sympathy shot through him. The kid was sitting there, hugging his knees and, since a minute or so, shivering again. His lips were blue and his eyes red, with tear trails on his cheeks. He faced his boss with a look so sad….

Somewhere the evil man House was arguing. _No.. adult.. deal with own problems…. _But how could even he ignore this? He sighed. "Perhaps it would be the best idea to get to my office and talk."

He'd expected the people in the hospital to notice the way the pair of them looked. He, like a mother goose, leading his stray duckling back to the nest. The stray duckling looked like hell and didn't seem to notice anything that was happening around him. For all he knew, there could have been a costume ball in the hospital and he wouldn't even have quirked an eyebrow. But no one paid them any attention. Apparently it was a normal sight, House being followed by a will-less, younger doctor.

The brilliant diagnostician dreaded this conversation as much as his subordinate, but it was a necessary evil. He postponed starting the conversation by providing the both of them with a hot beverage. Coffee for himself, and tea for his junior. He sat down and rubbed his thigh before taking a Vicodin and taking a deep breath.

"So Robert," He noticed how the blond man started at the unexpected use of his first name. "care to enlighten me about your little drama show up the roof?"

Apart from the little twitch, Chase showed no sign of heaving heard or in any way perceived the question, a fact that annoyed his boss almost as much as it worried him. Desperate to get a reaction, he tried to poke at the younger man's ego by ridiculing his behavior on the roof. "C-c-chase?"

Chase looked up, with those pained eyes and tried not to show his desperation in his speech. "How long were you there?" He asked House in a melody-less voice.

"If you mean: 'Did you see me run away as if I were confronted with my crappy dad and hide on the roof to cry my eyes out ?' then yes." Was the reply. Although given in a singsong voice and apparently happy, there was nothing even remotely positive about it, but he needed to find out what had been going on.

"I don't have to tell you anything House, it's none of your business."

The decrease in understandability of that reply, due to Chase's accent, informed House of the panic and distress he was in, but his anger stopped him from offering the shoulder that his wombat needed. "Oh, well, I'll just walk away and leave you be miserable. It's obviously not my business if my employee has been behaving more like a living corps lately, who doesn't contribute anything to the cases we are trying to solve and who runs away to cry on the roof in the middle of treating patients." He was starting to shout.

"People are dying because of you, and therefore they are dying because of me, and you are saying it's none of my business. I could have you fired, I should have you fired, I – ,"

"Why don't you then?" Was the quiet reply. House couldn't believe what he was hearing. He strode over to the intensivist in two steps and one jumpish thing, and grabbed his arm, roughly shaking him, trying to find the right words to express his anger. He was so mad at the man in front of him, that his thoughts weren't coherent and he had trouble voicing anything.

"House, let me go." Chase was panicking. House didn't react.

"House, let. Me. Go!" When his boss still didn't react, he pushed the man away. House, being rather unstable with his leg, his cane having been positioned against his desk, saw this as a serious threat and balled his fist to regain control in the conversation. All Chase had said had resulted in his anger being fueled more and this push was the drop that made the bucket flow.  
When Chase yelled that House should not touch him, House's fist collided with his face. "Why did you really sell me to Vogler?" He demanded, getting angrier by the second, "Obviously you don't care very much about your job…" He hit Chase again. A whimpering sound escaped the blond doctors lips and he fell of the stool he had been sitting on, hitting his head on the floor and immediately blacking out.

And he thought that that had been the worst of it: hitting an employee into unconsciousness. Several moments later he had to amend that train of thought. He and Wilson had tried to patch the kid up a bit, when House had noticed that there was blood on the oncologists arm. Proceeding to undress his duckling he stumbled upon a sight that had shocked him so severely that, for one of the first times in his life, he didn't know what to do. Chase had been covered in bruises and his left arm bore the marks of several, obviously self-induced cuts. He had known the Aussie was not completely stable, and after all, how could he be, with such a hard life behind him already, but this had surprised him. In a bad way.

House was still kneeling besides Chase's body, with Wilson's hand resting on his shoulder. He looked up at the oncologist. "What are we going to do? What on earth are we going to do?"

James smiled sadly. "I don't know. We can't pretend nothing of this has happened, but I doubt that Chase will like it if we meddle in his affairs. Maybe we should bring him to his apartment."

"Yes," House sneered, "so he can grab his knifes and use his arm as a sharpener again. No way, Jose. And I'm not leaving his issues here either. He's coming to my place, whether he likes it or not."

Wilson's eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets? "Your place? But…"

"What would you have me do? Foreman hates him, Cameron's love for damaged men would harm him more than her kindness would help and he has no family on the Northern Hemisphere. So unless you want to take him to your hotel?"

"I don't think it's a good idea. You beat him up less than an hour ago and now you're taking him home with you. I know there is no other option, but I'm not allowing this either."

"What do you want to do about it?" House raised his eyebrows.

"I'm coming along".

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**And that last sentence reminded me of Supertramp's "School". Amazing band, Supertramp. But we're not here to discuss musical preferences, so I won't. I hope you liked it. Please leave a message, if you'd like. As I said, I have no clue as to how to continue, so it may take a while. And maybe a content-less chapter, but those can be fun too.**

**Thanks for reading.  
Kind regards**


	10. Chapter 10

**Dearest readers. I finally found the time to update again. I'm sorry for all the delay, but I'm trying. This chapter is rather uneventful and a lack of Wilson, but I still like it. Also I tried to make it up to you all with the last paragraph. I hope you'll forgive me.**

**Next, I want to thank all the people who've reviewed. I have received an astonishing amount of 20 reviews on the last chapter, which blew me away. I really appreciate it that you want to take the time to leave a message. Also, I had an anonymous reviewer, who I'd very much like to reply to, so please Lauren, if you read this, know that your review too, was very much appreciated! (Even though there were tons of spoilers in it :P)**

**I won't keep you waiting for much longer. I hope you enjoy the chapter. **

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Chase woke up. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to risk a headache from excessive light in the room. He knew that it wasn't yet time to go to work, since his alarm clock hadn't rung yet, so he laid back and enjoyed the comfort of his bed. He took a deep breath and focused on the room around him. It was still dark. After all it was winter and he'd already decided that it was early in the morning. Chase liked the dark, it was so tranquil and calm, cool and refreshing and private and open at the same time.

He thought back to all the night time wanderings he had made in his life. When he was a teenager and his mum had had too much to drink, he'd take care of her and when she was firmly asleep, he'd sneak out to find his peace in the dark. When he was in medical school and he'd had an argument with the girl he had been dating, he'd take a stroll to reorganize his thoughts.

He rolled onto his side and bumped his head into something soft. Still not opening his eyes, he frowned. What was this? He racked his brain, trying to decide which of his possessions could have caused a collision of this kind. It could be a sweater he'd left on the bed, or perhaps his old, formerly white, stuffed rabbit, called Blackie. He would have taken any of this as an explanation if it weren't for the other off sensations that he perceived. For one, he could swear that his bed was way more comfortable than the surface he was currently laying upon. Secondly, the room just smelled off. Not bad, just not like home. And what was more, he could hear a clock ticking loudly, which was odd, since he only owned soundless clocks, and apart from that none of them were near to his bedroom.

Chase opened his eyes.

He found himself in a completely unfamiliar environment. It was quite large. Larger than his own place by far. Along the gray walls, there were tall white doors and similar windows. Those last ones were framed by thick, dark curtains that fell all the way until the floor. There were some pieces of art against the wall, emphasized by small spotlights, mostly attached to the wall above the piece itself. Opposite him was a large television set, including a DVD system to write home about and an open cupboard that contained numerous movies in almost all genres possible. Chase spotted "The Lord of the Rings" standing next to a few movies that he didn't know, but from titles varying from "the Invincible pole fighter" and "the Shaolin drunken monk" he deduced that they would probably be kung fu films. Next he found "the Bourne Identity" and both it's sequels, "Star Wars" and a variety of comedies. When he turned away from the movie cabinet he'd walked over to, he saw the sight that had been blocked by the back of the couch: A huge collection of music. Old-fashioned records, CD's, tapes, DVD's, you name it.

The Aussie sighed and sat down on the couch. He wasn't stupid. Adding 1+1 was an easy job for him. The piano in the far corner, Mick Jagger's name on several of the music carriers, the movie collection and especially the messy state the living room was in: this had to be House's place.

On one hand he was fascinated to be there. Together with Cameron he'd spend hours talking about how it would be, obsessed with their boss as they both were. And he must say, it was as he predicted, for a large part. Of course they all knew their boss was a marvelous musician. And they knew he adored the Stones. Not to mention the mess it was. It looked more like a student's place than like one belonging to a doctor.

On the other hand he was terrified. So far, House had never taken any of them to his home, especially not when they were unaware of it. It wasn't like they hadn't tried, but every time they asked he told them to sod off. So being here made Chase realize that something must have happened. Something bad. And it wasn't too hard to guess what.

It was still dark outside. Only starlight and moonlight fell through the windows, illuminating House's living room. He checked his watch for the time, to find that it was no longer around his wrist. Wanting to know the time anyway, he started searching for a clock, finding one on the wall and one on the DVD display. It was 4:47. Too late to go back to sleep, but too early to get up and running, so he grabbed the blanket on the couch and sat against the wall, near the piano, so he could watch the sky.

At first he just enjoyed the calm of the night, but after some time, he got agitated. What did House find out? Crap. What was he supposed to do now? And he really craved more problems to deal with. He hadn't slept properly for weeks and this certainly wasn't going to help him. And tomorrow? Was House expecting him to stay here, or was he supposed to come along to the hospital with him? On the bike? That was so not going to happen. And would his boss expect him to talk? About the cuts on his arms, the bruises on his body, the pain in his eyes? Crap, crap, crap.

BANG… BANG… BANG… BANG…

House stirred, uttering some sounds that made no sense whatsoever.

BANG… BANG… BANG… BANG…

Stretching himself, he opened his eyes.

BANG… BANG… BANG… BANG…

Was someone knocking on his door? What time was it? Did he sleep in?

He checked his alarm: 5:11. Strange. Who'd be calling at this time of the day? He grumbled. It'd better be very important.

BANG… BANG… BANG… BANG…

He got out of bed and grabbed an old Stones T-shirt. Pulling it over his head, he limped towards the door of his bedroom, where he'd left his cane. He got a hold of it and opened the door, making his way towards the front door.

When he opened the door to the living room, he saw what was the matter. His intensivist was hitting his head against the wall. House figured he wasn't doing it on purpose, though. The complete absence the kid seemed to radiate, witnessed against that. The diagnostician felt somewhat pained. It was sad to see a man that could have been great, lying in ruins like this. It wasn't hard to imagine what Robert Chase would have been like, had he had a proper youth, loving parents and the care kids needed. He would have been exactly what Foreman believed Chase to be: Arrogant and ungrateful, not to mention always backed up by his daddy's success, but infinitely more confident: Chase was an incredible intensivist, but his lack of confidence pulled him back, making him suck up and making him too insecure to tell them about his own ideas, which often were more than acceptable.

And he didn't know what to do. Again. How do you comfort someone when you have no idea what they've been going through. He, Greg House, wasn't good at comforting to begin with. Let alone in a situation like this. What was he supposed to say? I'm sorry for you, Robert? The kid would not believe him. Actually, the kid might not even understand what he was saying. He didn't look like he was able to absorb anything being said to him. House wondered if Chase would notice if he would take of all his clothes and start dancing the tango with a chair, but decided against checking whether he was correct.

Desperate to at least make Chase stop hitting his head against the wall, not liking the look of his junior behaving like he should be in a mental ward, he started speaking and halfway the sentence he already regretted it.

"Cut the masochism, please. Your drum solo is keeping me from sleeping." He bit his lip, but couldn't take it back now. When his employee looked at him with big, scared eyes, the guilt rose like bile in his throat and he turned round, unable to deal with this, cursing himself as he went. Why couldn't he refrain from lashing out at the kid. He had to be the mean, sadistic boss even when the Aussie was having a major breakdown. What kind of human was he? For the rest of the night, he was unable to fall asleep.

Afraid of making his boss even angrier, Chase stopped hitting his head against the wall. He hadn't even noticed that he had been doing so, it was more of a subconscious action. Instead he started fiddling with his hands, deciding that they were very much like butterflies. He would be sitting there and all of a sudden his left hand swished by, making fluttering motions. Spending the rest of the night watching his hands dance, he got into some kind of trance, not even noticing Wilson leaving early. He was waked rudely by House when it was time to go to work.

"Wombat."

Chase looked up, a question in his eyes.

"We're going to the hospital in an hour. The bathroom is that way: to the hall and the first door on your left. Food's in the kitchen. I'm afraid I don't have any Vegemite, so you'll have to make do with cereal."

The blond Doctor nodded and started getting ready grudgingly, not looking forward to having to face his colleagues like this. House noticed that his youngest duckling looked somewhat scared and correctly deducing what the man was thinking, he tried to reassure him. "I haven't told Foreman or Cameron about your little breakdown, so if you come in with me, they'll think we are dating, which is a fun thing to make them believe. But if you want to avoid questions, you should probably make me wait for some time. You know what, I'll get myself a coffee and a donut." He turned around and walked to the kitchen to grab some food.

"Why am I here?"

A softly accented voice danced through the air, making the limping man falter.

"You know that for yourself. I couldn't send you home, Wilson lives in a hotel, Cameron would drown you in her drool and Foreman wouldn't take you in, which leaves me. Unless you'd rather be in the psychiatric ward?"

"I have a home myself." Chase shrugged. He knew that this wasn't the best course of action, but it would probably make House tell what he knew. And he wasn't surprised.

"Sure, you could go home. And then you'd never return. I wouldn't want the carpet to be stained with blood. Or the smell of a dead body for that matter. Imagine the trouble it would take to clean that up. No, you are staying here, mister."

Okay. Chase inventoried. So his boss knew about the cuts. That sucked, but hopefully he hadn't found anything out about his messed up relationship with Vogler. And since the man was gone now, the chances of that were insignificant. Good.

He re-inventoried. House knew about the cuts. Holy crap, House knew about the cuts. Swiftly looking down to see whether his arm was exposed, he turned it over to make sure that the diagnostician couldn't see it, knowing full well that it was too late for that. And of course, House noticed.

"No need to hide that from me, now is there? Isn't attention what you wanted? Isn't pain what you wanted?" He lashed out.

The intensivist turned away, hiding the fact that he was close to tears. All this effort he'd made to hide it had turned to nothing. The one person that wasn't supposed to know, knew. How was he supposed to go on now? How was he supposed to keep working with the man, whilst being scrutinized by those blue eyes? Whilst knowing that the man across from him, the man he admired so much, despised him? He dug his fingernails into his palms, where they made dents that would not disappear for hours, turned around and walked towards the bathroom to take a shower.

"You know, walking away from your problems doesn't help." House yelled after him.

"Look who's talking." Chase mumbled to himself, before closing the door with a little more force than strictly necessary.

House flushed the toilet. He waited for about half a minute and then he flushed it again. And again. This time, he was satisfied when he heard a yelp from the shower.

"House, quit it!"

He sniggered. No way that he was going to stop now. Wombat poking had always been his favorite sport. He wondered when his subordinate would understand that it wouldn't be half as much fun when there was no reaction, but his Aussie never failed him. Blushing, yelping, giving him supposed death glares. It was kind of endearing. Some days he would make Chase blush for the sake of seeing him blush. The slightly red tinge on the younger man's cheeks gave him even more beauty. How could a man be so handsome. Even Cameron couldn't come close to Chase's looks.

His mind darted back to the subject of embarrassing Chase. From the moment he'd met his fellow to be, he'd started poking around in his private life, searching for ammunition. When he made the very first remark about the kid's father he knew he'd hit the Jackpot. Daddy issues. And mummy issues too, he'd found out within the first week of Chase's fellowship. Not that the Aussie had told him anything. House was just a marvelous reader of body language. The way the blond Doctor averted his eyes when he mentioned his parents, and the way his shoulders tensed told him all he needed to know, and now, several months later, he'd found out so much that teasing Chase was as easy as teasing Wilson. Only it was way more rewarding.

He flushed the toilet again and smirked when he felt the annoyance of Chase, knowing it would get way worse when the man would find out that there were no towels. And he wasn't disappointed.

"House, there are no towels in here. Could you bring me one?"

Knowing that this was going to happen, House grabbed the towel he'd placed on the dining table beforehand and limped towards the bathroom. Chase had unlocked the door, but stood behind the shower curtain so as to protect his privacy. House dumped the towel on the floor and swiftly grabbed Chase's clothes, before heading off, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later he could hear the exasperated sigh of his junior. He fought back the major grin that appeared on his face and sat on the couch with his back to the door leading to the hallway. The door opened, but House didn't look around.

"Can I have my clothes back?" The timid voice of his fellow sounded.

Now he looked around and his jaw almost dropped. Of course he knew Chase was wearing nothing but a towel, but he hadn't expected that to be so… sexy. One drop of water rolled down the blonde's chest and House's gaze was fixed upon it.

"Um, House?"

He blinked. "Yeah. They are in my bedroom. But you can grab some of my stuff if you want to."

"Thanks."

When the Aussie walked into the living room a bit later, fully dressed, he found House in exactly the same spot. The man had not moved and not even his gaze had shifted from the doorway. He was entranced.

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**So, what did you think. I got myself drooling and fainting writing this scene, but I _am_ pathetically obsessed with Chase**. **I really hope you guys liked it. Please leave a message, if you'd like. You would certainly cheer me up.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Dear people. I am finally back. I apologize for letting you wait for such a long time, but I have been so busy. School, school and more school. And I'm still behind on everything. It's so difficult, sometimes I wonder whether I should quit, but I don't want to be that weak.**

**Anyways, I had this huge debate on a certain sentence in this chapter. Is it like Wilson and he were having a party of like Wilson and him were having a party? I really can't decide so I was hoping one of you guys could help me out.**

**What's more, I received lot's of questions about whether this was going to be a slash fic after all. I did say it wasn't but I'm not so sure now. I like the tension between our favorite Aussie and our favorite evil genius Doctor. What I can be sure of is that it will certainly not be explicit slash, since I don't like that very much. Hopefully that answers your questions. If not: don't hesitate to ask them.**

**Also I'd like to apologize. I have been addressing you all as girls, but I received a message telling me that there are guys reading this too. So: I'm sorry guys, you are very welcome.**

**Now on with the chapter, you've waited long enough already.**

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Life went on. Or at least, so it appeared for two out of three members of the diagnostics department. The cases seemed to take up the most of Cameron and Foreman's minds, when it came to work, at least. Outside that, Cameron had found a new hobby, besides running: Yoga. Even though she appeared to be a very down to earth person, she had a spiritual side that none of the boys knew about. Together with some of her girl friends, Linda, and Kim, who were nurses at PPTH, she decided to go and take a class. Both the girls found it to be both painful and uninteresting, but Cameron, who had always been a flexible, graceful and slightly unearthly girl, had been entranced from the first five minutes onwards. She found it extremely relaxing and noticed how her flexibility had increased. A few weeks after her first class, she was able to do the splits again, something she had been unable to for a long time.

In the mean time, Foreman had been busy with his career. He was a very ambitious man and he decided that the time he spent at the office doing nothing would be better spend if he invested the lost hours in his career. He'd started writing articles about the cases they had. The first ones were rather crappy. The structure was nowhere to be found and his vocabulary, besides the hospital jargon, was not something to boast about. So he'd also started reading classics, finding that they seemed to increase and improve his language skills immensely. The last draft he'd written was actually something to be proud of. He wondered whether he should send it to a magazine, but decided to postpone that step for a bit, first wanting some peer reviews.

The third duckling, Chase, had more of a turbulent time. After the last night he'd spend at House's place, his world seemed to have crashed down. From the cold, aloof, detached person he'd attitudinized himself as, he'd fallen to mentally unstable, vulnerable wreck. Or at least, to his boss. But the hardest thing was knowing how his boss didn't concern himself with Chase in order to help him, but to solve a puzzle. The Australian couldn't pretend to be surprised, after all, it was what House identified himself with, but it stung nonetheless. He'd always wished for a little more affection, and maybe he'd been imagining it too. Now, every time House watched him, he could see the man's brain whirring. Also he'd noticed Wilson noticing him more often than usual. Was it just him being paranoid, or had the oncologist somehow learned of his recent breakdown.

He watched as the man he'd just been thinking of walked into House's office and the two of them started bantering. Soon, this evolved into the usual arguments, that House would win nearly every time. Was it him, or were they looking his way a little too often?

"How can you look at it that way?" James Wilson demanded. "I've spent all night listening to him thrashing his head into the wall and losing it. Though I'm not sure whether he kept me awake or if it was the crappy air mattress you made me sleep on." Keeping the conversation light was essential to prying the information from an unwilling House.

Gregory smirked. "I figured you, as a Jew, should know that you shouldn't covet anything. So no thinking about my soft, squishy, amazing, four-poster bed in that way. And not in that way either." He winked and Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You're avoiding my question."

"Well, it was hardly a question to begin with, right? I mean, it was more of an indignant demand as to why I don't care about him. To how I should care about him."

Wilson made his angry mother hen face. "Of course that's what I mean. It's a good thing I came along at all. Living with you alone would do him a lot of harm, instead of the fuzzy, caring, good thing you opt for."

"And a nice way of showing it, you have. I was the one shaking him out of his pathetic daze to begin with. If it was for you, he'd still be banging his head against that wall now." They both glanced at the subject of their argument at the same time, looking away when they noticed the intensivist was looking back at them. House looked at his friend and noticed how he seemed to have made a point. James looked at his feet for a few moments, before meeting House's eyes and speaking up.

"You're right. I haven't been the best caretaker. But I figured he didn't want anyone else involved. You knowing about his condition would be bad enough already. But now I see that I should protect him from you." Defiance was in his eyes and it amused House to no end. "I was planning to sit back and protect him from behind the curtain, but I'll take my responsibility now."

House tried his best not to grin, but a hint of a smile appeared around his mouth. Wilson noticed and turned away. "Fine, laugh at me. At least I can feel good about myself." And he walked out of the office, closing the door with a little more force than necessary. House mumbled after him.

"Yes, _you_ feel good about yourself."

That evening, Cameron stood in front of her mirror. She'd bought a new Yoga outfit earlier that week, and tonight was the first time she'd try it on. She looked at herself and was pleased. She'd always had a great body, was able to eat anything she wanted and never gaining any weight and the boys at high school had all but worshiped the ground she walked on. After her 25th, she'd lost the ability to eat anything. She noticed that multiple bars of chocolate and numerous scoops from the Ben and Jerry's she kept in the freezer at all times gained her a more than a few pounds, so she decided to cut back on the junk food and start the exercising. This plan had turned out to be so successful, that she was more beautiful than she'd ever been.

Deciding that it was time to leave, she shoved her stuff into the backpack, switched off the lights, closed the doors and locked them, and took her bicycle. She pushed off to gain speed and started paddling towards the gym. It was winter, so it had already gone dark, even at this time of the day. Dark never bothered her though. She'd never been scared easily. She found it to be rather gloomy, and wished for it to be lighter, but she was not afraid. Not at all. Looking around, she saw the same neon lights she always saw: The hairdresser, the supermarket and the Chinese restaurant were the most outstandingly decorated places. The light emitted by the advertisements was so bright that for a moment she believed it to be noon. The light momentarily blinded her and the sudden yell startled her.

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

That voice sounded familiar. And so did the tone the man used. She got of her bike and started to apologize, until she noticed the moody man behind the huge stack of Chinese was actually her boss. She frowned. "That must be enough food for at least 5 people. Are you that hungry?"

Even outside the hospital, House remained as unfriendly as ever. He did look at her outfit with some appreciation, something that she immediately noticed and was immensely pleased about. "Well I was going to share with a hooker, but if you want some, feel free to join and get some."

Of course she noticed the double meaning of his words, and she declined, but her curiosity wasn't satisfied in the least. "Who's staying over besides you and Wilson? And don't tell me I'm imagining things."

House grinned. "I told you it was a hooker, didn't I?" And he turned around and left her. Left her dead curious. If there was one thing that she could change about herself, it was her curiosity. It could come in handy, especially when her job was concerned, but mostly it was a personality trade she'd rather be rid of. It caused too much mayhem in her head. This particular meeting for example, would stir around for weeks at least. Thanking God for Yoga, which helped her relax her mind, she continued on on her way to the gym, the meeting still occupying her thoughts.

James had noticed some of the tension leave the young doctor's frame when House had left the apartment to get some take away meals for the three of them. Even though the silence that followed was awkward, he was glad to see the Aussie relax a little. They sat there in silence for at least ten minutes and Wilson used those to study House's subordinate. The frail man was mostly looking at his hands, shy to look others in the eye. And the most outstanding thing he noticed was that there was a lack of fear. Of course, Wilson could see that Chase was scared about what would happen next. Having House find out about something this big, couldn't have been high on his wish list, but still, the fear that had been so obvious a few weeks ago, the jumping at slight sounds; shuffling along walls; looking around all the time, was almost completely gone.

"He told you, didn't he?"

Wilson jumped at the unexpected sound. "What do you mean?"

The blond doctor looked away. "You know what I mean."

"Why would you think I know about whatever it is you think I know about?`

Chase smiled sadly. "I notice the way you treat me. It's as if your careful to break me. You never come close, take care not to startle me and the arguments you have with House seem to involve me a lot. I'm guessing you know. So either he told you what happened, or you were there. I was hoping for the first."

The oncologist had to admit he was surprised. Robert was way more observing than he gave him credit for. Especially under the present circumstances. He sighed and nodded. "The second, I'm afraid." Chase's shoulders sagged and he looked down again. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, steeling himself. Wilson felt bad for the kid. "If you ever want to talk about it…" He left an invitation dangling.

Chase smiled again. "Thanks, Dr Wilson, but not yet." And they went back to there silence. This time it was much less uncomfortable though.

Some time later, the silence that covered the room like a blanket was rudely disrupted as Gregory House limped into the living room, carrying a few bags full of Chinese food. Unceremoniously dumping the plastic bags and their contents on the dining table, he called out for the two other men to join him and have dinner. Wilson was already moving, grabbing three plates from a cupboard and using his free hand to supplement these with cutlery from a drawer. Before Chase noticed what was going on, the table was set and they were ready to eat. Clearly Wilson had stayed for dinner one too many times. He was intrigued.

House's presence lit up the atmosphere. Where the hospital version of his boss caused the setting to be gloomy and impersonal, this version of House seemed almost homey. The way House and Wilson made small talk, reminded Chase of his parents, back in the days that his father was still around and his mother wasn't too intoxicated to reach. Soon he got lost in his train of thoughts, leaving House and Wilson to go to the home of his youth, the time when he'd been truly happy. A small smile appeared on his lips, and the world could have ended right there, without him ever noticing or caring.

He'd expected his guest to be quiet. But at a certain moment he noticed the atmosphere in the room. It wasn't like it was off. It was _not_ off. It was like Wilson and he were having one of their kung fu film parties. It was like Chase wasn't even there. So he casually moved his eyes sideways, to where his fellow was situated. And the kid was completely zoned out. He eyed Wilson and inclined his head towards the intensivist besides him, meaning for his friend to notice and give his opinion.

Wilson stopped talking mid sentence and his mouth transformed into some odd painful smile. Well they knew that something was going on. They didn't know what to expect though, and House would have taken this Chase in his happy place over anything. Certainly he preferred it to 'banging-his-head-against-the-wall-Chase'. Still, he couldn't sit by and do nothing. Couldn't watch Chase going down. No matter in what way.

He thought it might have been satisfying. That some sadist part of his brain would enjoy seeing the tattletale all worked up, but being confronted with the facts…. He supposed he cared. Somewhat. He was still Greg House, not Allison Cameron, but in his way, he cared. He hadn't forgiven his Wombat, but the events of the past weeks had broken the stalemate. Ignoring and insulting his fellow was no longer necessary for him. He didn't need to get back. He needed to find the reason for this all. He needed to know why the one employee he was able to relate to, even if it was only a little, let him down. But most of all, he realized, there was some feeling in his stomach that made him want to help Robert. He wanted the man to stop being so sad, so afraid and so… he just wanted Chase to smile that beautiful smile again.

He would tell Chase to go and see a psychiatrist.

Two days later it was almost normal. After work, House would take Chase and Wilson home, still trying to be inconspicuous about it, where Chase sat on the couch staring in the distance and Wilson and House amused themselves with some movies. Chinese food was all over the table, together with empty beer cans, plastic wrappers and half eaten bags of crisps. At some moments, Wilson tried to clean up a bit, but he never got further than a few scoops of the top of the pile before House would distract him in some way.

And House had still not spoken to Chase. Yes, they shared some meaningless words about the food or the movies. He'd even asked Chase whether the couch was comfortable enough or if he preferred sleeping on an airbed, but the move he'd planned to make still loomed threateningly, casting a shadow on his every action, his every thought even. But he never spoke.

Until that night, when he woke up, desperately needing to go to the toilet. He grumbled, only half awake and kind of pissed at the thought of having to limp all the way over to the bathroom. Rubbing his eyes, he opened the door to the living room and saw his employee sitting up straight on the couch. The blond man was digging his fingernails into his palms so hard that there were drops of blood dripping from his hands onto the couch. House cursed.

"What do you think you're doing, Chase." The smaller man looked op at his boss, a bewildered look in his eyes. "Look at yourself. Is this how you should handle everything? Running away, turning into yourself, punishing yourself? Where do you see this ending? Do you _want _to kill yourself? Because you're certainly heading that way."

Chase looked miserable. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block House, whilst shaking his head at the same time, answering the man's question. He didn't want to die.

House's heart stuttered at the utter sadness that the man in front of him was radiating. Said man looked up at him. "I need help, don't I?" It wasn't a real question, more of a rhetorical one, yet House answered it.

"You do."

Chase nodded.

"I can make an appointment for you."

"Shouldn't I do that myself?"

"Probably." It was quiet for a solid amount of time. Nothing moved but the dust motes and the shadows, that were slowly growing larger as the moon was setting. They looked at each other. Chase was the first to look away, embarrassed. "I'll call someone in the morning." House finally spoke, effectively ending the conversation. He was relieved. This conversation was easier than he thought it'd be.

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**Thanks for reading. I hope it was satisfactory. Please leave a message, if you'd like. Lot's of greetings!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Dearest readers of this story. Once again, I have to apologize for making you wait so long, and I'm not promising any improvement in update time. I haven't quit school yet, and I won't, but it such a hell of a lot of work. This term, I had to redo a subject that I failed last year along with my normal three courses. It has been quite busy. Right now, I should probably be studying for my exams, but I felt that I _had_ to update. I hope you'll all forgive me for being so slow.**

**Let's get on with it then....**

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_It was a weird week for all three of the current inhabitants of House's apartment._ Wilson mused. Well, maybe not so much for himself, but watching the other two struggle with the things on their path made him feel somehow involved. He watched Chase struggle with himself, watched as the young man got up in the morning, witnessed the time it took him to carefully compose the mask he'd been wearing for the past weeks, witnessed the cracks in said mask as Chase violently attacked his cereal at times and saw how the mask could be the only thing left when Chase was lost in his thoughts.

Meanwhile, House was occupied with the agreed upon date with Cameron. Wilson knew House hadn't liked her leaving and really tried to get her back on the team, but this condition Cameron had demanded was outrageous. She might have believed it to be innocent enough, with her school girl crush on his best friend, but the oncologist had been there when House was worrying about it. Sure, House never worried, but this was different. It might have appeared to the outside world as if the man had no feelings, but deep down, he could be hurt just like any other man. Maybe even more easily so.

Funny how life in the hospital seemed to go on as if nothing had changed. Of course, from the perspective of most, nothing _had_ changed. He nodded towards the lady at the reception as he walked by her and received a 'Good morning Dr Wilson'. No, definitely nothing had changed. There was a flurry of patients in the clinic, some seriously ill, others just there for a birth control prescription, even some homeless people enjoying the warmth inside. He had not the heart to send them away in the dead of winter.

At first he followed House into the clinic, and when his friend picked up a new patient, after said man had showered House in apple juice, he followed the nephrologist to the office, curious about what was going to happen to the man and dead surprised that House wanted to treat him at all. He believed that his shouting might have caused whatever was wrong with the guy to begin with. In no time the three ducklings were in a heated discussion as to what was wrong with the man.

"You scared a guy into stroking out?" Foreman asked, unbelieving.

"Does that surprise anyone here?" Was the witty reply from the oncologist, earning him a bout of fake laughter from the diagnostician. The ducklings weren't so easily distracted and Cameron was the next to utter a suggestion: "Blown pupils usually means brain stem edema."

This was, of course, easily waved away by her boss. If it had been so easy, they wouldn't even have taken the case. "Sure, but since he's not dead or in a coma, I'm going with stroke to the optic nerve." He put up scans on the light board. "CT scan shows two things."

He looked around, daring them to come up with the two things he was aiming for. With success, as Foreman took the bait and dared to point out the anomalies. "Ischemia. Death of brain tissue. Means there's been some damage, hopefully not permanent."

"And?"

"That's it. There's nothing there to tell us what the underlying cause is. We've got to do an MRI."

"You're looking at the wrong part of the scan." It was almost possible to hear the man laugh.

"I'm looking at the brain, what else is there?"

And of course, Cameron, rehired Cameron had to show how unmissable she was. "The jaw."

"The jaw tells us why he stroked?" Chase said something for the first time. House was relieved, he noticed how quiet the intensive care specialist had been up till that moment, and he was glad that his junior had spoken up. Too bad it was something so stupid. He debated on whether to comment on it, in a Housely fashion, but decided to cut the kid some slack.

Cameron continued. "No, the jaw tells us why we can't do an MRI. Unless we want his jawbone flying across the room."

"Metal plate. He's had major reconstruction and there's no way we're removing it, so we're forced to be clever. Angiogram to rule out vasculitis, EMG for peripheral neuropathy, tox screen to eliminate drugs, an echo to rule out cardiac emboli." House told his underlings before turning to the only female member of his team. "Dr. Cameron, I'd appreciate you keeping the terms of your new contract to yourself. Don't want everyone clamoring for the same perks."

He watched his ducklings walking out.

Wilson sighed as he entered his office, having left the relative comfort of House's office behind. He wasn't sure he was ready for another day filled with cancer. Not now that there was so much going on in his life. It hurt him to confront people with the mostly bad news. That was the down side of this job: the death rate was incredibly high. Lot's of patients he'd gotten familiar with; shared all the ups and downs during their period of illness; cheered with when the chemo seemed to reduce the tumor; cried with them when the cancer had returned; they just died. He had to watch how they grew weaker, pined away and finally left this world to go on to a better one. He had to watch their beloved ones lose all hope and finally break when the final moment had arrived. He rubbed his eyes, sighed once more and stopped this thread of thoughts, focusing on the job at hand.

On the hallways the ducklings were mulling over the final remark House had made as they left the office, concerning the terms of Cameron's new contract. Both Foreman and Chase were extremely curious, because they knew it was something worth knowing if House started making dubious remarks. It was only a matter of time before one of the two would ask her a question and then it would start.

And indeed, the door had closed a mere second ago and the intensivist opened his mouth. "What perks?"

Cameron replied. "Nothing you'd be interested in." That was a rather specific reply and Foreman immediately started drawing conclusions.

"So it's not money, then? Office space, insurance, parking… anything he could offer you, we'd be interested in."

Before the conversation could turn to subjects too uncomfortable, Cameron decided to spill the beans. "He agreed to go on a date with me."

On both the male Doctors' faces an incredulous look appeared. Chase raised one eyebrow and both Foreman's eyebrows seemed to merge with his hair. "A date? Date, dinner and a movie, naked and sweaty date?" He had to agree with her. He would not be interested in that at all. A date with Cameron, maybe. A date with House, never.

Cameron hurried to correct that view. "He only committed to the first two." She was a bit offended that that was what Foreman thought of her and she wasn't sure that that was what she wanted. She liked House, yeah. But that was all, for now. She only did what anyone would do if they found themselves in love. Okay, apart from _forcing _her boss to accompany her.

"He's so…" Chase started. But he wasn't quite sure how that sentence had to end. He's ugly? But House wasn't ugly. He wasn't a model, no, but his eyes were simply entrancing. He's so mean? But deep down there was a spark of kindness and protectiveness. Chase knew House would never have taken him in if there hadn't been. "He's so old!"

"And you're so young."

"It's a big mistake." Foreman said. Always thinking in black and white, which was quite ironical.

"It's my boss. I'm allowed to sexually harass my boss. I'll arrange for the EMG." She looked at Chase "You want to set up the angiogram?" And moved on to Foreman "You get the blood samples, patient history, patient consent?"

With that she left. And she left behind a secretly very amused neurologist and a thoughtful intensivist, both of whom spent the rest of the day pondering this development.

Chase was walking down the street, towards the lights that were illuminating Princeton General. He was agitated, nervous perhaps, yet this seemed to only heighten his senses. He smelled the city's smell, the emissions, the fast-food, the lack of green; he felt the cold wind through his thin coat. He never was much of a coat person, always finding the cold to be somewhat comfortable. He heard the background sounds of a town at night: the standard sirens of police cars, some murmuring and the distinct sound of New Jersey's nightlife. Sometimes he wondered if they recorded it on tape and played that same record every night. He missed the sounds of the countryside. The wind blowing, the birds chirping….

Most of all, he noticed the light. There was so much light, he couldn't even see the stars anymore. He always considered light pollution to be one of the most pitiable feats of city life. One of the most incredible things God had created was brutally ignored, almost undone. His eyes followed his condensed breath fly into the night. What a desirable prospect. He wanted to disappear so swiftly and beautifully himself, but managed to keep walking ahead, towards the hospital.

House had booked him an appointment with a shrink, as promised. Right now, a Doctor Callaghan was waiting for him, in an office somewhere in the big building at the end of the street. The Aussie was unsure about what was going to happen. What did Callaghan expect from him? He was not planning on telling the psychiatrist anything more than absolutely necessary. Okay, agreed, he needed help, but getting him to function normally did not, in Chase's mind, include a full record of his life. His life was _his_, and none of the man's business.

The intensivist pushed the door open with his right hand, taking care to keep it in the sleeve of his jacket. Being a doctor made one consider the dispersion of bacteria more than the average person and Chase was no exception to that rule. He also had the weird habit of washing his hands twice in a row on every occasion. Taking a deep breath, the blond walked towards the reception desk.

"Good evening." The young man behind the counter said. "How can I help you?"

He could still run. He could turn his back and lie to House. Pretend he'd talked to the shrink. "I'm here to see…."

The man behind the desk was eyeing him expectantly. Possibly he assumed that Chase had simply forgotten the name of the doctor he wanted to see. But after half a minute he got impatient and when Chase still remained silent, he got worried. "Sir? Are you alright? Sir?" The boy all but yelled, waving hands in front of the handsome man's face and desperately trying to get his attention. "Sir?"

Chase's silence was not reflecting the state he was in. Whilst he seemed zoned out, his mind was whirring with questions, options and excuses. He was weighing all the benefits and the disadvantages of carrying on, but deep down he knew that he should. It would not do to walk away right now. Repression had not proven to be a good way of coping with things: he'd had enough experience with that. Swiftly his thoughts went back to his mother and how she drank herself to death. He'd tried to repress that. And there was his dad, who'd left him at the age of 15, when his mum was a drunk already. Rowan had abandoned his son when said man needed him more than ever. This too, Robert had repressed and Rowan's visit to the hospital had made it clear that that technique hadn't helped the least bit. All his anger, frustration and disappointment had immediately popped from behind that door. Burst through the walls he'd built around the unhappy memories.

Taking a deep breath he looked up at the receptionist. "I'm here to see Dr. Callaghan. Could you tell me where I need to be?"

Of course the man knew who Callaghan was and what he did. Chase could tell by the pitiful, yet slightly repelled look he received. This had better not be the way people would be around him. It was not like House would keep this whole situation secret. For now maybe. For now he trusted his boss, but as soon as he would be better, he could handle life better, House would probably bully him until his head exploded. Well, he could take it. Sort of. He could take it in public. People needn't know he could worry himself to sleep, or not to sleep. Either way, they wouldn't find out. And if it got too bad, he could always quit his job. Not a prospect he particularly liked, but still. If he could, however, he would not be such a coward. He liked his job and he felt no need to move to the other side of the earth for a second time.

"O yes. Dr. Callaghan. Um… On the second floor, room number 254. The stairs are over there and the elevator is to your left."

Chase thanked the man with a small nod and walked towards the stairs. He didn't like small spaces like an elevator. He took two steps in a stride and was up on the second floor in no time. Slightly out of breath, he looked for a sign indicating where he was to go next. He took a right and a left and found himself in a pleasant looking area of Princeton General. It was decorated with lots of plants and the walls were a nice shade of yellow. He wondered if the happy colors did the patients of Dr. Callaghan any good. Hopefully they did. He sat himself down on a chair that was placed against the wall and amused himself by looking at the fish tank across from him. It was filled with the most exotic species. Not that he knew anything about it, but usually the bright and flashy fish didn't show up in New Jersey. He had seen one of them when he was snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef. And there was another familiar one. A Nemo fish, the orange one. He had seen that movie once. It was a bit childish, but amusing all the same. Hadn't Nemo been caught and placed in an aquarium too? Only that was a dentist's tank, this one seemed to belong to a psychiatrist.

The sound of a door swinging open pulled him from his reverie. He turned around and did a double take. In the door he did not see the middle-aged man he was expecting but a young and attractive woman in a skirt and high heels. He blinked rapidly.

"Hello. You must be Robert Chase?" She asked him. And when he nodded, she continued. "I'm Tamara Callaghan. You want to come in and have a seat?"

* * *

**Don't quit school. It's a bad idea. Also: enjoy the nice spring weather. I hope you have nice spring weather. I hope my parents won't kill me for letting slip that I live on the northern hemisphere.**

**Please leave a message. They cheer me up.  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello very nice and patient people. I'm back, for now. I've had a very busy time: school was horrible and my computer even worse. But now the holidays have come (I've already been away for two weeks and it was awesome) and I found some time to write. I sincerely hope you like the new chapter. I hope to finish another chapter this summer, but my boyfriend will be coming home in one and a half week, so I think I will then be unavailable. (Haven't seen him in 5 weeks.)**

**In the mean time, enjoy the new chapter.  
**

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That very same evening, House was to make good on his promise. Whilst Wilson was stretched out on the couch, commenting House's every move, the diagnostician himself was fixing his tie.

"The wide side's too short. You're gonna look like Lou Costello." Came the warm voice of his friend.

House moved the tie a bit, but wasn't paying too much attention to his looks. His mind was mulling over tonight's date with his underling. He really shouldn't have agreed to this circus. It wasn't that he disliked Cameron, not at all. She was one of the people he was relatively close to, she was pretty and even though she could be very annoying at times he was fond of her. Just not in the way she wanted. If that was what she wanted.

"This is a mistake. I don't know how to have casual conversation. You think you're talking about one thing, and either you are and it's incredibly boring, or you're not because it's subtext and you need a decoder ring."

Wilson concluded that his friend was just nervous. After all, House wasn't known for his incredible people skills. So he did what he did best: he gave the other some advice. "Open doors for her, help her with her chair…"

"I have been on a date."

"Uh, not since disco died. Comment on her shoes, her earrings, and then move on to D.H.A. Her dreams, hopes and aspirations. Trust me. Panty-peeler. Oh, and if you need condoms, I've got some."

_What? _House raised an eyebrow. "Did your wife give them to you?"

"Drug rep. They've got antibiotics built in, somehow."

Condoms. Really, what did everybody think of him? "I should cancel. I've got a patient in surgery tomorrow." He moved to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"And if you were a surgeon, that would actually matter. That's a good idea, settle your nerves. Get me a beer, too."

"No beer." House spoke grumpily.

Wilson frowned. "You're gonna eat before dinner?" He got up and walked over to the kitchen, curious about House's dealings. House almost blushed as he bent over and grabbed a corsage from the top drawer. He turned to face the oncologist, looking embarrassed. "This is pretty lame, right?" He said.

Wilson smiled, secretly considering it somewhat sweet. Not very House-ish. "I think she likes lame."

House rolled his eyes and continued his frantic preparations.

Approximately one hour later, Greg House was on the first date he'd had in at least ten years. It felt awkward; high school all over again. And what was worse, he'd have to work with Cameron every day. Every day he would look into her eyes and see the consequences, whether they were good or bad. If this worked out well, he'd see her devotion and what she thought to be her love. Would it be a total disaster, her eyes would be filled with loathing and hate, or even worse: pity. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and handed her the corsage.

"It's beautiful. And you look very handsome." Obviously she noticed his discomfort, she was quite an okay people reader.

"Thank you."

Realizing she was going to be the one making the small talk, Cameron spoke up. "I've always loved this restaurant."

"Yeah. It's changed a lot since the last time I was here. It used to be a strip joint." Cameron laughed and House wondered whether she believed him. Probably not. He decided to take Wilson's advice and compliment her. "Nice earrings."

"My mom's. Thank you." Cameron looked surprised, but didn't ask clarification.

He continued. "Nice shoes. Comfortable?" Causing her to react this time.

"I'm not expecting you to be someone you're not." She looked at him, questioningly and just a little curious. He could tell by the way she furrowed her brow. Yet, he didn't know how else to behave. At this point he was cursing himself for ever taking up on her offer.

"We're in a restaurant, we're dressed up, we're eating. If not small talk, what is there?"

Both of them were silent for a while, uncomfortable to be in a setting so different from their usual one. Of course, Cameron was the one to break the silence. The immunologist set down the wine list and looked at her boss. "According to Freud, and I'm paraphrasing, instinct of love toward an object demands a mastery to obtain it, and if a person feels they can't control the object or feel threatened by it, they act negatively toward it. Like an eighth-grade boy punching a girl."

He almost snorted. Trust Cameron to bring up her optimistic way. She saw the world in such a way that everything was a sign leading to her happiness. It was a little egocentric, but who was he to talk. He decided to immediately get her off her cloud. "I treat you like garbage, so I must really like you. Given your Freudian theory, what does it mean if I start being nice to you?"

"That you're getting in touch with your feelings."

The diagnostician rolled his eyes. "Hmm. So there's absolutely nothing I can do to make you think that I don't like you?"

Cameron grinned apologetically. "Sorry, no. I have one evening with you, one chance, and I don't want to waste it talking about what wines you like or what movies you hate. I want to know how you feel about me."

Secretly House didn't want to hurt her feelings. Sometimes he wished he could believe in the good of humanity and the world like she did. However, he needed to get his point across clearly. "You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect. That's why you married a man who was dying of cancer." Her eyes shimmered. "You don't love, you need. And now that your husband is dead, you're looking for your new charity case. That's why you're going out with me. I'm twice your age, I'm not great looking, I'm not charming, I'm not even nice. What I am is what you need. I'm damaged." He picked up the menu, hiding behind it. She looked shocked.

Chase was still standing. Dr Callaghan looked at him expectantly, but he couldn't make himself walk into the room, sit down and talk to her. For a moment he regretted coming here, but then he remembered his conversation with House. That time he'd balled his hands so tightly that his palms had begun bleeding; He remembered all the times when he'd taken out his army knife and pushed it against his arm, marveling in the cool and safe feel of it against his skin, before pushing it harder; He remembered the drops of blood trickling down his arm, into the curve of his elbow, dripping down onto his lap and he knew that he didn't want to be like that. He wanted to get back to normal and he couldn't do it alone.

He shook his head and took a step over the threshold, both literally and metaphorically. Tamara smiled and showed him his seat, before taking place on a chair at the other side of the desk. Chase sat down and looked at his hands nervously.

"Oh, I forgot." Tamara got up again. "Would you like something to drink?" She smiled apologetically.

"I'd like a glass of water, please." Chase spoke, noticing how dry his throat was.

Tamara walked over to a cabinet on the wall, got out two glasses and filled them with water. "There you go." She said, placing one of the glasses before Chase. "Can I call you Robert?"

"Oh, ehm, sure. Can I call you Tamara?" He asked her back.

She grinned. "I daresay you can. Now let's start with you telling me why you called me, OK?"

Chase swallowed. "I don't know what to say."

"I can only imagine. Don't worry though, I don't expect you to tell me anything that you don't want to tell me. The initiative is all yours. Even if I ask you a question that you don't feel like answering, just tell me and we'll switch to another topic. So, why don't you start by telling me something about yourself. Am I correct in assuming you are not from the United States?"

He nodded. "I was born in Melbourne, Australia. But I moved here after I was hired by Dr. House."

She seemed to be impressed. House was rather famous after all, and everyone knew that he was the hardest to work for. When her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head a little, he realized that she expected his going to see a shrink was House's fault. In a way it was, of course, but not the way she expected it to be.

"He is the person that made me see that things weren't going well." He could see a faint blush appearing on her cheeks, as she noticed that she made a wrong assumption. He almost snickered.

"Tell me something about your job. Do you like working for Dr. House?"

"Oh, yes. I love being a doctor, and working as a diagnostician is even better, because you get both the satisfaction of working with and curing a patient and of solving the puzzle. And my colleagues are very nic- …" He stopped mid-sentence, remembering that his colleagues and himself hadn't really been the best of palls since the whole Vogler fiasco. He didn't really mind that much, but he did care that Wilson and House had despised him ever since.

Of course, Tamara noticed the hesitation in that sentence, but since the reason for it was clearly no pleasant one, she didn't directly ask him to elaborate. "So who do you work with, besides Dr. House? Are you his only fellow?"

He shook his head. "No, there's also Allison Cameron and Eric Foreman, but I've been working for House the longest."

"So are you their supervisor, or are you three equals?" She asked.

"No, we're equals. There wasn't that much time between him hiring me and them. It's just, he doesn't like working with people, so if he can get away with it, he doesn't hire anyone."

"Then, why did he hire you?"

Chase looked down. He didn't want to answer that question, but he also knew that she would get back to this subject if he didn't. And in that case, they'd be discussing it in way more depth. Hesitantly he made to answer. "He… I… My dad asked him to."

"Right…." She frowned. This didn't fit the image of Gregory House. The diagnostician would never do what other people told him to, even if those people were right. She decided to find out more. "And why did he hire Dr Foreman and your other colleague?"

"Dr. Cameron, Allison Cameron." Chase supplied automatically. "He hired her because she looks great, and he hired Foreman because he… well, he once stole a car."

She nodded. This sounded more like the Greg House she'd heard of. Still, the question remained. Why did the brilliant diagnostician hire this Robert Chase? She was curious, but also knew that said man couldn't tell her the reason. Clearly, he didn't know it himself. The psychiatrist decided to move along to another topic. "You said Dr. House is the one who made you realize you weren't doing well?"

Chase nodded, but even though it was really an invitation for him to elaborate, he did not. He wouldn't know what to tell her anyway. Over the years he'd noticed that he was unable to lie straight to someone's face, but instead he just didn't tell them everything. He gave them vague hints and let them construct an image of Robert Chase just the way he wanted to be seen. Foreman believed him to be an arrogant, rich white boy; Cameron considered him an laid back, lazy ass-kisser and House was probably closest to the true Robert Chase.

Of course Dr. Callaghan prodded on. "Can you tell me more about that?"

"I don't know what to tell you." The Australian admitted.

"Hmm…" she hummed. "Did he tell you to see a psychiatrist, or was that your own decision?"

"It was my own decision, but he supported it."

Tamara nodded. "Was he there when you made the decision?"

"Yes, he was."

"What happened? Was it in the hospital? Did you lose control?" She asked him so many questions that he almost thought she found him fascinating and was curious. He had never seen a shrink before, though, so he couldn't really say whether this was normal procedure. Most probably, he thought, she was just throwing a hell of a lot of questions at him, hoping that there would be one he was willing to answer. But for all the questions she asked, he found the threshold to be too high still.

It seemed that Tamara noticed this, for she moved to more innocent questions. Or at least, Chase figured they were innocent. You never knew what a psychiatrist would get out of your answers. It was just like that divination professor in Harry Potter, part 3. It didn't matter what Harry said or did, it always pointed to his gruesome approaching death.

"You told me that House hired you because your dad made a phone call? Do the two of them know each other?"

"Well, they could have met somewhere at a conference. I mean, they are both world renowned doctors, so why not?"

"So you are Rowan Chase's son? The rheumatologist?"

The blond Australian closed his eyes shortly. "Yes."

"Is that why you became a doctor?"

"No. I just like medicine for medicine, not because my dad is good at it." he snapped. "Besides, it's not like having a famous father is any good. Everyone expects so much more of you."

She nodded, curious to dig into the relation Robert Chase had with his father. There was something there. It could just be a mutual dislike of each other, but she wouldn't know until she had wiggled the truth out of him. Of course there were two approaches to finding out. Either she could play the psychiatrist tricks and ask him lots of questions until she had him in a corner and there was no way he could evade answering her, or she could just ask him. Of course, both options had their good and bad sides.

"Do you see them a lot? Your mum and dad?"

"No." The Aussie's answers were getting shorter by the sentence and his shoulders nearly touched his ears by now. Tamara took notice. Apparently she had been right on the parental issues. Now the question was what the issues were, and if she could solve them.

"How come?" The blond man remained silent for quite some time, so she decided to give him an excuse. "Is it-".

"She's dead." He wasn't looking at her, but she could still see that his eyes were slightly wet and had a red tinge to them.

Oh. Maybe she had been wrong. She placed a hand on Chase's shoulder. "I'm really sorry. What happened?"

He looked up, but couldn't say it. He was ashamed of what she'd done so many years ago, drinking so much it killed her. Besides, it was none of this woman's business. He was here to be fixed. To find a way to cope with what Vogler had done to him, not to discuss childhood trauma. He wished she would not look at him in that pitying way.

Turning his head away from her again, he spoke. "She was killed in an accident."

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**Also: I re-enrolled for my school just yesterday, so I'm not quitting (yet). Yay for me ;P.**

**Thanks a lot for reading. I'd like to hear from you all: reviews are fun.  
**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi everyone. I know, it took me ages to update, but a lot has happened. I'm not going to bore you with everything, but one thing was the start of school and the second the fact that my sister moved to another country. Not so much fun.  
Back again now, though, for a new chapter. I was a bit disappointed with the lack of reviews last time (thanks for all who did leave a message), but then again, I wouldn't demand it from you. Please only leave a message if you feel like it. I mostly hope you like the chapter. It's going to have a little more suspense for an episode of 2, 3.  
**

**I'll stop blabbering now. Back to the horrors of true life. Greetings!  
**

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Foreman and Chase were standing, watching Harvey's surgery from overhead. Over the course of the last days, they had found out that Harvey liked being strangled by his friend annex dominatrix Annette, and the team had drawn conclusions. It was very likely that the strokes Harvey had were caused by an aneurysm, caused by the trauma. The surgeon downstairs was currently looking for proof.

Besides finding out about Harvey's odd hobbies, the team also found out Chase's knowledge of the scene. It appeared that he knew Annette, met her at some parties. When House heard about this, he first gave Chase a sermon for not mentioning this medically relevant information, only to continue with a stream of jokes and insinuations Chase wasn't sure he could take right now. But he struggled through, pleased that Cameron and House's date was more interesting than him and his former girlfriend.

The door opened and both guys turned around, to see Cameron walking up to them.

"You came in late." Foreman greeted her. "Had a good time last night?"

Cameron appeared to be reluctant to discuss the matter and tried to get the conversation to another track. "How's the surgery going?"

Chase gave a short reply. "Harvey's doing fine so far." But both he and Foreman wanted to know what had happened the night before, and they weren't going to give in so easily. "How did the night go?"

"It was fine, how was your evening?" Cameron avoided, explaining about the bad wine and the nice conversations she shared. In the mean time, House himself was having a similar conversation with Wilson, telling him about the food and about how his advice helped. How he'd complimented her earrings, her shoes. Both conversations ended on the same note: Was there going to be another episode?

"I don't know." Cameron sighed.

"I don't think so." House stated, effectively ending this bout of hospital gossip.

At that very moment, a voice rang from the OR. "Hey kids, you were wrong. No aneurysm, no nothing. This guy's clean."

All three ducklings sighed. It would have been nice to have solved the case. A night off was a luxury all three were craving for. Foreman had been wanting to call his parents forever. Cameron really needed to get away from the nosy people gossiping about her and her love life. Chase just needed his rest. Talking to the psych was consuming a great deal of energy. Even though they hadn't discussed anything he was really uncomfortable with, evading the topics, answering without making her suspicious and fearing that she would be anyway was taking its toll. As it would seem, though, they were refused their rest.

"Which means we've got no idea what's causing the strokes." Chase finished the surgeons sentence.

The discussion went on in the office, where they were joined by House, who only had time for one comment at Cameron's stupidity before his attention was needed elsewhere. Apparently, now that House had fulfilled his side of the bargain, he allowed himself to be mean and degrading towards the immunologist again, Foreman mused. Not that he'd expected anything else.

There was a knock on the window and House sent them all off to get an angiogram, an echo and a full-body scan, before dealing with the two older people outside. They were the couple that had come to see him separately earlier this week. The lady, Ramona, was first, presenting with vaginal tearing and the request to give her boyfriend weaker pills. Not a day later, the boyfriend himself, Myron, had shown up, complaining about how she always seemed to want sex.

"Those pills you gave Myron, they're not working." Said Ramona.

House rolled his eyes and coaxed them into telling the truth. He almost grinned as he saw the relief on both their faces and was about to turn around when Myron took out a breath spray and sprayed his mouth before kissing Ramona. That was it!

A few minutes later he walked up to his team and cornered the intensive care specialist. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the suppressed signs of panic. "Dr. Chase, these breath mints you've been popping since yesterday. Are they a new fetish?"

Chase flinched at the word fetish. "Oh, I got them at Harvey's. What, I just took two boxes; the guy's got a whole drawer of them!"

"And you didn't find that interesting?"

"Well, there's lots of interesting stuff at his place. The mints weren't high up on the list."

"Wrong." House countered, dragging them along to Harvey's room and telling Chase to smell Harvey's mouth. "Rich, wouldn't you say?"

"Uh. Smells like old vomit." Chase spoke, blushing faintly in embarrassment.

"Number one sign of fulminating osteomylitis." House explained, ensuring the ducklings of their free afternoon after all.

Chase was sitting on House's couch. It was approximately 5 in the afternoon and he'd been reading a book for one and a half hour now. He found that reading enabled him to escape his own life and become involved in someone else's. He especially liked fantasy and sci fi, since they made him enter a whole new, different world, where his problems seized to exist. At the moment he was completely emerged in 'The Lord of the Rings': it was like he himself was strolling around in Rivendel, whilst Frodo was recovering from the Witch-King's stab. It was amazingly pleasant, the serenity and calmness in Rivendel. How it made him feel relaxed and at home. He wished it was real and that he lived there.

"Chase?" House called out.

Chase looked up and acknowledged him.

"What do you want for dinner?"

Chase shrugged. Really, who cared what was for dinner?

"Chase?" House demanded, "I asked you a question."

Chase shrugged again, infuriating the diagnostician. "Hello? Earth to Chase. Can you at least answer my question?"

"I don't care."

"How about ravioli?" The older man suggested, knowing full well that the Australian detested it.

"Fine." Chase replied, turning his attention back to the book on his lap.

"You hate ravioli." House accused.

"Hmm." Chase shrugged again, not looking up at his boss, who had stepped closer with every sentence.

"No wonder you worked for Vogler. You really go the way the wind blows. And I thought you did it for the advantages."

"What advantages? Keeping my job?" Chase replied cynically, as a reminder that he was the one going to be kicked out of the department.

"How would I know?" The diagnostician raised his voice for the first time, "Money? Sex? A good reference? You're the one who turned tattletale, not me." He noticed the way Chase raised his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut, even though the moment was gone in an instance. It intrigued him to no ends. What had happened between his junior and the former chairman? And, more importantly, how was he going to find out about it? For now, there were two options. One: to continue gathering information about his youngest fellow the way he always did: by being rude and getting under his skin. This was what he did best, of course, but also had the risk of really making Chase crack, considering the situation they were in. Two: he could try to subtly manipulate it out of Chase. But he had always hated the way psychiatrists worked, and even though he enjoyed and was very capable of subtlety, he found that it would not satisfy him in this case. Since letting it go was not an option, he went for the first alternative.

"Did I hit a sore spot?" He asked, all too innocently, and there it was again: Chase's trademark stare of late. Angry, shocked, disappointed, extremely frightened and somewhat disgusted at the same time.

"Let it go House." It was only a whisper.

"I did, didn't I." He replied, seemingly feeling very good about himself. In reality he was scared for the answer. He knew that the Australian would never give a proper answer, but that served to frighten him even more. He wanted to know what happened, but then he really didn't, because it had to be ugly. What else could possibly drive his duckling over the edge like this. House knew that Chase had had a rough childhood, but he managed to deal with that just fine. Maybe he was a bit introverted and had way too little self-esteem, but he had his life working at least reasonably well. If he was honest with himself, he could take a fairly good guess of what had happened, but he really didn't want to go there. Still, Chase had to acknowledge what happened, before he could even begin to go back to normal.

House swallowed and opened his mouth, only to close it again. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, counting to ten. When he reached eight, he blurted it out: "He raped you, didn't he?"

The brilliant diagnostician thought he was prepared for anything, but what actually happened stopped him dead in his tracks. At first, Chase looked like he'd been hit, sitting silent and unmoving on House's couch. Then, after half a minute or so, the blond doctor looked up into the other's eyes and smiled. It wasn't a genuinely happy smile, but a smile nonetheless. "No, as a matter of fact he didn't." He spoke, and turned his attention back to the book in his lap, leaving his boss to walk out of the room, dumbstruck.

When the door closed behind House, Chase let go of his breath. His boss had come way too close with his accusation. The Australian had believed himself to be good at hiding problems. It had taken House ages to find out about the strained relationship between Chase senior and Chase junior. Even finding out that the rheumatologist had died, had taken him several months whilst he was aware of the deadly disease that was killing said doctor, so why was he so close now?

Chase wondered whether House had believed his little act. Whether it would make him investigate in a different area. There was no doubt that House would find out eventually: nothing had ever stopped the man of manipulating people into doing what he wanted them to do. And the intensivist knew himself well. It would be a piece of cake, once the older doctor would start trying. Nevertheless, he would keep quiet for as long as he could.

That evening, somewhere past six, Chase closed his book. He looked up at House who was watching some movie that was playing on the television. The commercial break was just over, and House was, once again, completely immersed in the movie. Chase snuck out of the room and grabbed his rucksack, that he had already filled over the course of the day: his wallet, clothes, some food and now the book he had been reading. He grabbed his coat from the chair it was hanging on and left the building.

It was dark and cold outside. Even though spring was coming, winter still had the country in it's grasp. Chase took a left and headed for Princeton Junction railway station. He wasn't entirely sure where it was, but if he could find his way to the hospital from here, he would be able to locate it. The walk to PPTH took him quite some time, but he was happy to be out and about again, not to mention the sense of freedom he had, being away from House's scrutinizing gaze for the first time in weeks. Near the hospital he took a bus: the railway station was too far to walk. This way he could at least catch a train.

The intensivist took a quick look at his watch. It was 5 to eight, so he was just in time for buying a ticket in the quik-trak kiosk for the train to Penn station, New York . The train would leave at 8:31, so it left him a half hour wait. He sat on a bench and got out his book to pass some time and before he knew it, the Australian heard the train coming. He got in, sat down and prepared himself for the 51 minutes needed to get him to the big apple.

When the next commercial break came, House got up to go to the toilet. He noticed Chase wasn't on the couch anymore. _Strange,_ he thought,_ I didn't notice him leaving._ Shrugging once, he decided that his junior was probably trying to sleep somewhere quiet. _Hell, he might even have gone to steal my bed._ House thought, but immediately dismissed that idea since it was Chase they were talking about. In the living room he could hear the movie starting again, so he hurried back, forgetting about the question of Chase's whereabouts for a bit.

When the second commercial break came, he shuffled to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He opened the tap and listened to the water flow. When he closed the tap, he noticed the silence in the apartment. House frowned. Chase wasn't usually a quiet sleeper. If he slept at all, he would toss and turn, moan and sometimes even scream. Maybe this was an improvement. He went back to the living room and sat down carefully, taking a sip of the water.

When the third commercial break came, he decided just to sit through it. There was a Wal-Mart commercial, several shampoo and beauty ads and a promotion for the new Muse album, before a more serious message started. It appeared that a young girl had gone missing. She was blond, beautiful and reminded him vaguely of Chase. He sat there for a moment, but suddenly cursed and almost jumped up, starting to search the house.

"Chase? Chase, where are you?" He entered every room, but no sight of his wombat. Now that he thought of it, it had been too quiet for some time. And, he noticed, half of Chase's clothes were gone. He stumbled to the hallway, where he discovered Chase's coat was also missing.

"Fuck." He grunted. He grabbed his cell phone and rung Wilson.

"James."

"Chase ran away." House stated bluntly.

"What? No 'My name is Greg, not Ja'-." Wilson started, annoyed. Halfway the sentence his mood changed audibly: "What do you mean, Chase ran away?"

"Just like I said. I was watching a movie and suddenly I noticed he wasn't there. I searched the house, but he was nowhere to be found. Half his clothes and his coat are gone."

Wilson uttered a few curse words. "Don't move. I'm coming." And with that he hung up, leaving House to listen to the beeps.

51 minutes after he got into the train, the train arrived in New York. Chase packed his stuff and got out, standing on a very busy platform. Now what was he going to do? He hadn't planned this far in advance, being fixed on getting away. He decided to just take a stroll through the city and see if there was any cheap hotel he could stay. And if not, he'd slept in a park before. Since Penn station was in the middle of the city, he soon gave up his hopes for a cheap hotel: even the crappy hotels were expensive here, and decided to walk towards central park.

Reveling in his anonymity he walked along the sidewalks, looking at the tall buildings. He saw the Empire State Building and lots of other high towers. _It's amazing people can make these things._ He thought to himself. Getting closer to central park, his feet started to hurt, but he knew that it wasn't far now. He could see the trees and green indicating his destination.

As he was about to cross the last street, he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Well, well, well. Look who we have here: Robert Chase."

He turned around and stood face to face with Edward Vogler. His heart rate increased and his palms became moist.

"What are you doing here, in New York?"

_Lie to him. He mustn't know your alone._ He desperately thought. "I'm here with my girlfriend." _Oops, bad move._

"And where is she now, if I may ask?" Vogler replied.

"In the hotel. I wanted to take an evening stroll. She didn't."

"Where are you staying. I can give you a ride there."

"The New York Hotel?" Chase almost asked. He didn't know any hotels in New York, save the Hilton and that would be incredible. He assumed there would be a New York Hotel somewhere: most owners weren't all too creative.

And indeed, Vogler seemed to know the name. "The New Yorker Hotel. 481 Eighth avenue." He nodded. "Fancy. Hop in, kid."

Grudgingly Chase complied. Making sure to sit as close to the door as possible. Vogler put a fleshy hand on his upper leg and Chase shivered, praying that the former chairman would just drop him at the door of the hotel and leave. But luck seemed not with him, this night.

"May I see her? Your girlfriend?" Vogler demanded, as he helped the Australian out of the car. "What room are you in?"

Resigned, Chase called out a number. "335, I believe." And Vogler led him into the hotel, walking straight to the correct room and knocking on the door. _Please, God. Please let someone young open the door._ Chase prayed, and for the first time that evening, luck seemed to be on his side. A gorgeous young woman opened the door. Chase looked her into the eyes and tried to convince her to play along.

"Hello." She spoke. Her voice was soft and low, for a girl. She tucked her hair behind her ear and waited for him to take the initiative.

"This is Edward Vogler." He introduced the large man.

"Hello, Edward." She spoke, smiling slightly. They grasped hands. "My name is Joanne."

But just as the intensivist thought it was going well so far, another voice sounded from the room. "Who is it, sweetie?" It was a man's voice and by the sound of it, a young man.

"I don't know Pete." She yelled back. "Maybe some hotel employees?"

Vogler's facial expression changed from impressed to outraged and back. "Yes. My colleague here is called Robert Chase." Chase tried to smile at her, but he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Vogler went on. "We just wanted to know if everything is alright here." Joanne nodded. "And to tell you that breakfast will be served from seven to ten tomorrow."

"Thank you sirs." She smiled her thanks. Just before she turned around, she looked Chase into the eyes. He looked back and mouthed a 'Help me!' to her. For a moment she looked worried, but she repressed it and bade the men farewell.

Vogler looked around. "You are in big trouble, Robert."

Chase swallowed.

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**Thanks for sticking with me! **


	15. Chapter 15

**I know what you're all thinking: Wow. _Another_ update? So fast. This must be another story. And you're rightly surprised. It's just that I have something to write towards. That speeds up my writing immensely. Besides that, I got the first season DVD box for my birthday! And watching Chase really helps too. Lastly, I have my exams next week, so I've been trying very hard to find an excuse not to study. Maybe I'll clean up my room later. It's probably necessary. **

**So two more things: first of all, don't get your hopes up for quicker updates. Instead, just see this as a gift for some national holiday in whatever country you're from. The 24th of October is a very beautiful day. Personally I'm celebrating not dying yesterday. (I'll tell you at the end of the chapter.) Secondly, there is some gross stuff in this chapter. At least, I was kind of revolted when I read it. Nothing too bad, but I figured I should tell you guys about it.**

**Enjoy the read, and feel free to leave a message. (*Gets down on floor and begs for nice reviews* )  
**

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At first, Wilson had convinced his friend to stay calm. Maybe Chase had only gone for a walk. They knew Chase to be a solitary person and he hadn't had privacy since House had decided to take him in: always being watched by someone. At work, House made sure there was always one of the ducklings with Chase. He drove the Australian home and never left the apartment without either locking it, or having Wilson over to keep an eye on his junior. It wasn't hard to imagine the kid needed some privacy.

Still, House was worried. Who knew what Chase would do in this state. If a desperate need to be away from people had driven him out, his state of mind wouldn't be what one would call serene. Besides, he hadn't forgotten the little quarrel they'd shared earlier that day. After half an hour of relative calm, his panic started to surface again, and he urged Wilson to start an active search.

They decided to split up. Wilson stayed in the apartment, in case Chase was coming home by himself. House took out his bike and drove around the neighborhood in an attempt to locate the Aussie himself. They had debated whether or not to include Cuddy, Foreman or Cameron in the search, but for now they'd decided to leave them out of it. So far, he and Wilson were the only ones who knew about Chase's 'condition' and they liked to keep it that way.

Several hours later, though, there had been no sign of Chase whatsoever. House returned to his apartment, hoping that Wilson had found him, but both the men were disappointed. It was getting late: eleven o'clock had passed already, and House and Wilson were nearing panic.

"If he doesn't show up before twelve, I'll call the cops." House spoke.

Wilson nodded. "Good idea. But you know they don't start searching until a person has been missing for at least 24 hours, do you?"

House shrugged, resigned. "I know, but I don't know what else to do."

Wilson put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll find him, House."

The phone rang.

"911 emergencies. My name is Freddy Cohen, how can I help you?"

"Hi, my name is Joanne Stephens. I'm not sure if I should call 911 for this, but I didn't know what else to do."

"What happened, miss Stephens?"

"I think I saw someone who might have been kidnapped. I was playing a game of cards with my husband Pete when somebody knocked on the door. I got up to open it and outside were two men I'd never seen before. One looked at me appreciatively and the other was staring at me in a sort of relieved yet panicked way. There was a short conversation and when they left, the second man looked me in the eyes and mouthed 'help me'."

"Where did this happen?" Freddy asked.

"In the hotel we're staying currently. The New Yorker, in room 335."

"481 Eighth avenue, New York?"

"Yes, sir."

"And when did you see those men?"

"Just now. Maybe twenty minutes ago, at the most."

"All right." Freddy spoke, and Joanne could hear him tapping the keyboard. "Can you tell me something about these men, Mrs. Stephens?"

"Yes, of course. The first man, who I think kidnapped the second, was tall and large. He had a darker skin and big hands and facial features. I think the second man called him Edward Vogler, or something."

"Hm hm." Freddy encouraged.

"The second one, the panicked one was called Robin or Robert Chase. He had an accent. British or Australian, I think."

Freddy Cohen could hear a soft mumble in the background.

"My husband says it's Australian." She continued. "He was small and fairly skinny. Caucasian, with blond hair and blue eyes. But I didn't notice them well, so I could be wrong about that."

"Don't worry miss. This is a very detailed description and it's very important that you remembered their names. I will run them against our database of missing people. Did they mention their own names?"

"No, Robin or Robert introduced Vogler and vice versa."

"All right. So we can at least assume Edward Vogler is his real name. Thank you very much, madam. We will see what we can do."

"Thank you. I hope you'll find them."

"So do I. Have a nice day."

"Thank you. You too. Bye."

"Goodbye."

Vogler´s hand moved further up his leg every minute. Chase was disgusted and very tempted to remove it, but he knew that there was no point. Instead he closed his eyes and pretended to be somewhere else. In the diagnostics office, trying to cure another patient; in his apartment, listening to Pink Floyd; on House's couch, reading the Lord of the Rings, but the sound of the car and of Vogler's heavy breathing pulled him back to the here and now every time he tried.

His heart was beating fast and as the car slowed down, it's pace increased even more. When the car stopped and Vogler told him to get out, Chase was sure he would die right there. In fact, he wished for it. But the large man grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a hotel room, closed the door and locked it. Chase's panic was starting to overwhelm him when the other man turned around and approached him.

"Robert." Vogler drawled. "Robert, Robert, Robert."

The Australian tried to make a sound, but a hoarse squeal was the only thing that escaped his lips. Vogler closed the distance between them and slowly drew a finger over Chase's cheekbone. Chase moved backwards and stumbled into a wall. Before he could be trapped, he changed direction, turning away from the wall, towards the locked door. Vogler kept approaching and the young doctor kept retreating until he was leaning against the door.

The older man reached out again to touch Chase's face, closing his eyes and sighing. Next, he moved his face towards Chase's neck, kissed it softly and delighted in the smell.

Very carefully, Chase moved his hand down behind his back until he reached the door's lock. Slowly he turned it around, careful not to attract Vogler's attention, until it opened with a soft click that Chase masked with a cough. He thanked God that these doors opened outwardly. Now he only had to wait for the right moment and run as fast as he could.

He waited. Allowed Vogler to kiss his throat once again and barely repressed a shudder. He couldn't when the other man placed a big hand on his chest, over his heart.

"Your heart." Vogler breathed. "It beats so fast. You must be aroused."

Chase had to do everything he could not to throw up violently right then. But he resisted and waited. Waited right until the moment presented itself: when Vogler closed his eyes and placed his ear against the intensivist's chest, listening to his heartbeats. Chase counted to three and suddenly threw the door open. He turned on the spot and took of, running towards the hotel's exit.

The blond doctor took one, two, three strides before he heard Vogler cursing and following him. Forcing himself to move faster, he almost made his way to the stairs. Then he felt a warm hand grabbing his shoulder as Vogler caught up with him.

"You are not going anywhere, pretty."

Chase swallowed again and he struggled to get away. Right when he opened his mouth to scream for help, Vogler placed his hand over it and dragged him back to the room. He locked the door again and made sure he was between his victim and the door at all times.

"You're a naughty boy, Robert. Very naughty. Now promise me you won't do that again." Vogler spoke, moving closer to the blonde. When Chase didn't speak up, he asked again. "Will you promise me that?" But the other man still didn't answer. It drove the rich man mad. "Promise me! Now!" He shouted and he balled his fist, before driving it into Chase's face forcefully.

Chase grabbed his face and tried to protect it. Vogler hit him again, and this time the man used so much force that the intensivist toppled backwards, onto the king-size bed that was in the room. In order not to sustain any serious damage from this and any other blow that might be coming, he curled into a tight ball and pulled a pillow over his face.

Somewhere far away, he heard a muffled Vogler speaking to him. "See, I like this train of thought a lot better." The bed creaked as the large man sat on it. Chase closed his eyes and tried to summon all energy he had to fight of his former superior. When Vogler made to unbutton his shirt, though, he couldn't remain silent and he screamed loudly, resulting in several more punches into his head. The last thing the blond doctor thought before falling unconscious was the Lord. _My God, why have you forsaken me?_

The phone rang again.

"911 emergencies. My name is Freddy Cohen, how can I help you?"

"Greg House. I want to report a missing person."

"You should probably call the regional police station for that, sir."

"I don't think they'll pick up in the middle of the night, _sir._"

Freddy was getting annoyed. "Well, maybe you should wait until tomorrow, then. They probably just ran away."

"It's my colleague, Dr. Chase. Not some blockheaded teenage kid of mine." House interjected.

"Even adults can behave irresponsibly and- wait, did you say Chase?"

"Yes."

"As in Robin Chase?"

"No, Robert Chase. 28 year old, blond, Australian intensivist."

"How tall is he? And what color are his eyes?"

"Not so tall. I'd give him 5"10, at the most. And his eyes are a greenish blue."

"I think I received a report on him an hour and a half ago."

"Where is he?" House demanded, irritated by the man's slow behavior.

"We don't know exactly. A lady called in, saying she saw someone who might have been kidnapped."

House's insides constricted. "Vogler…." He hissed. "Where did she call from?"

"The New Yorker hotel. She did mention the name Vogler, by the way. She believed him to be the kidnapper." Freddy Cohen sounded almost excited.

"She was probably right." House grumbled. "Now, start searching him, and keep me posted." He gave Freddy his cell phone number and hung up.

Wilson looked flabbergasted, not having expected this phone call to help them further in any way. Yet House's behavior had clearly expressed the opposite. Apparently Chase was in a lot of trouble: by the time he blinked, House had already stumbled his way out of the living room and was searching for a coat and his helmet.

"House, what's wrong?" Wilson demanded, as he made to find himself a coat.

"It's that jerk, Vogler. He's got Chase, in the New Yorker hotel."

"WHAT?" Wilson yelled. "Where, when? How did that happen? He was here just a few hours ago."

House shrugged, opening the door and limping off to get his bike.

"I'll drive us there." Wilson spoke, but House disagreed and insisted to ride his bike instead. He hobbled of with even more speed than before, so Wilson turned and loped towards his car. Secretly he was touched by the emotions House displayed, glad that the two men had each found a related soul. It was too bad that luck was always against them.

The 50 mile journey would normally take him approximately 75 minutes, but right now, he was really putting his foot down, and he'd passed Edison in 20 minutes. He was glad there were no cops in sight. He really couldn't afford any delay. He wondered where House would be, and if his friend would be careful. Or that he'd at least refrain from doing plain stupid things. It wouldn't do to go and save your friend and die in the process.

After another 30 minutes, he'd nearly reached his destination. It was a good thing that his phone had sat-nav, else he wouldn't have been able to find his way around New York. He parked his car somewhere, not caring if it was a legal spot, and took a quick glance around to see if House's bike was there already. It wasn't.

He stormed into the hotel and woke up the receptionist. "Sir, can you help me? I'm looking for a Robert Chase."

The receptionist, who was called George, started searching the hotel's data systems for Chase's name. When the search turned up negative, Wilson asked for Vogler, but unfortunately, this didn't yield any results either. Desperately, Wilson decided to just ask George if he'd seen anything strange.

"He's a friend of mine. Short, blond, Australian. You would have noticed it if he passed by, he's quite a looker."

George took his time to think, waving at a girl passing them in the mean time. "Can't remember. I did see an Englishman, but no Aussie. What did the other look like?"

"Tall, big, dark. He's got short hair, brown."

The receptionist creased his brow in though, but gave a negative reply in the end. Defeated, Wilson turned round and got a shock when he almost crashed into the girl that had walked by. She blushed and apologized.

"I'm sorry sir. I happened to overhear part of your conversation. You were talking about that man, Robin? Or was it Robert?"

"It's Robert, yes. Do you know him? Have you seen him?" He begged the girl.

"I'm the one who called 911. I'm Joanne." She extended her hand and he took it.

"Let's talk."

* * *

**So as I promised: I was going to tell you why I'm celebrating not being murdered. First of all, because I kind of like life. I don't want to die. Second of all, yesterday my boyfriend came over and in the evening I walked him to the railway station. This is a very remote place, and to get there you have to cross a dark and scary bridge (which is known as the rape bridge because some girl was raped there last summer.) So my boyfriend was really worried about me having to cross that bridge alone and in the dark and he texted me to ask if I got home safely. For some reason, however, my phone wasn't working so I didn't reply to any of the 4 messages he sent me. As a result, he spent the whole night thinking I was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. **

**Sorry sweetie...**

**But I survived, hence the celebration. I hope you liked the chapter. Greetings!  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**So last time I surprised you by updating really fast, this time I surprise you by updating even slower than usual. And to be honest, I wouldn't have updated at all without the lovely reviews I got. You know, I'm a sucker for guilt trips, so people begging me to update because I was being cruel got to me. Go begging people. **

**Anyway, I'm super busy for school. I have to write to humongous essays of 3000 and 6000 words about a topic that I have come to detest with a vengeance. I should probably have been writing those, since the deadlines are approaching and I also have to study for an exam I have next week. But I felt I couldn't leave you guys hanging any longer. I'm evil. I still have to wish you merry Christmas and a happy 2011. I mean, it's almost 2012 already. Sorry :(.**

**And finally I have a warning for you. I told you it was going to get real gross. Well, this chapter is grosser than all the previous chapters multiplied by each other. That's gross. So if you don't like that and you haven't quit reading this story yet, you might want to read carefully, if at all. For those who bravely continue reading, I can only hope you'll like it. Please leave a message. I will bow down and call you the ruler of the universe if you want. Anything?  
**

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Joanne and Wilson didn't spend very much time talking, since there was not very much to say. Her interaction with Vogler and Chase had been very short, but now, at least, they were sure Joanne had seen the young doctor they were looking for. Presumably, the two of them would still be somewhere in the vicinity of New York. The police were on alert, but Wilson decided to call House and join in on the hunt. Joanne and her boyfriend, Pete, offered to join and were gladly accepted.

"Let me just call my friend, Greg." Wilson spoke and he reached for his cell phone. He rang the number and waited for House to pick up, but when that didn't happen he hung up and turned towards the couple standing in front of him.

"He's not answering. I guess he's still on his bike somewhere. Hard to drive one-handedly."

The two nodded. "So, what are we going to do?" asked Pete, ruffling his brown hair with his left hand. His other was on Joanne's waist. They looked worried, but expectant.

"I don't have any foolproof plans." Wilson sighed. "I was hoping House could help us there. But for now we have to manage on our own." He stood still for a moment, thinking. "I could call his company. He works at a large drug company. He's the big boss." the oncologist explained, "I suppose we could find the number somewhere online."

"Good idea." Pete spoke and he walked over to the receptionist's desk, claiming the computer with internet connection. "What's it called? The company?"

"I'm not sure, but just google it together with his name. I'm sure something will pop up."

Pete searched the web for a while and managed to find the correct number, which he passed to Wilson, who rang it.

"Good evening, my name is Frank Murray. How can I help you?" An utterly bored voice sounded.

"Hello, I'm James. I'm looking for mister Edward Vogler. Do you know where I can find him?" Wilson deliberately didn't mention his surname. He wasn't sure he wanted Vogler to find out who called.

"Mister Vogler is currently not present. You could call back later."

"But it's urgent. Do you know anywhere else I can reach him?"

"He's in New York right now, for a conference. I can give you the phone number of the hotel he's staying at. But you might want to wait out the night. He's not fond of late callers."

"I can understand. But I would very much appreciate it if you could give me the number." Wilson was getting more nervous by the minute, but at the same time he felt a great relief at the ease with which he was getting the number.

"Sure. Give me a sec." Frank spoke. Wilson could here some papers being ruffled and plastic objects being replaced. "All right. I found it." Wilson took the pen and paper Joanne was holding out to him. "He's staying in the Four Seasons hotel. The number is 758-5700. I'm not sure about the room number, but you can ask the receptionist, I suppose."

"Thanks a lot, Frank. You're a life saver!" Wilson all but exclaimed. Joanne and Pete looked glad too.

"Hm. You're welcome, I suppose." Frank replied, sounding a lot cheerier than before. Being treated like a lesser being mustn't be fun for him and this was someone appreciating his work.

"Good night."

"Same to you, sir."

Wilson looked up. "So, does anyone know where this Four Seasons hotel is?"

"Nah. But Google knows everything, you know." Pete winked.

Joanne sighed. "He's nearly married to his computer you know." She winked at Wilson, who was momentarily robbed of the ability to speak. She was very good looking after all. Thankfully, Pete saved him by calling out the address.

"57 East 57th Street. I looked it up on Google Maps. It's only two miles from here."

"I have a car. And satellite navigation." The oncologist spoke. He led Joanne and Pete outside, towards his car. They all got in and made towards the hotel, growing ever more silent as they drew nearer. At last, Wilson stopped near the entrance of the hotel. "Listen. I don't know what we're going to find in there. It'll probably be ugly. I think it's best if I go alone. If one of you could park my car and the other could wait in the lobby or somewhere else…. I don't want to scare Robert, or have people invade his personal life."

"I understand." Pete spoke, and Joanne nodded. "How about you park the car, Pete? I can sit down somewhere inside the hotel. You can join me later."

Joanne and James got out of the car and walked towards the entrance of the hotel. Stepping through the door, they found themselves staggering from the sheer luxury in the hotel. After those first moments of awe, Wilson remembered the purpose of their visit. Silently he pointed towards a leather couch for Joanne to sit on. Next he moved towards the reception, where a woman was reading a magazine.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, sorry." She looked up at him and removed her reading glasses. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Edward Vogler. He's staying in this hotel and I need to speak to him. It's an emergency."

"I'm not sure I can just give you the number of his room, Mr.…?"

"Murray." Wilson improvised. Using the name of someone working for the former chairman might be beneficial. It could getting into that room a hell of a lot easier.

"Murray." She nodded, sizing him up. "Can I ask why you need to see him?"

"It's confidential."

"In that case, I cannot help you."

Wilson was getting frustrated. He was so close to achieving his goal and now this woman was going to thwart him? He wasn't going to let that happen. But what could he tell her.

"It's the woman he's with." A soft voice sounded from behind him. He turned around and saw Joanne approaching. "She's a criminal and we're here to arrest her."

"Can I see your badge?" The lady spoke and Wilson felt his hopes fade. Sure, Chase could pass for a woman. He was small, pretty and had long blond hair. If seen from a distance, or only glanced at, it was easy to mistake him for a female. And there was no doubt that this woman hadn't been paying attention. The badge was another problem though. Without it, this story was void. And there was no badge. Besides hopelessness he also felt a raging desire to punch the receptionist in the face.

"Sure." Joanne spoke and pulled out a badge. Wilson's mouth fell open.

The receptionist studied the badge. She handed it back to the young woman. "Room 2411. It's on the 24th floor. Could you please try and keep the noise down. This is a good hotel, we wouldn't want the guests to be bothered, now would we?"

"We will be as quiet as possible given the circumstances." Joanne spoke professionally. Wilson was still in shock, but she pulled him along towards the elevators. They got on one and she pressed the button reading '24'. "I'll wait in the hallway."

As the young man on the bed lost his consciousness, the former chairman of PPTH made his moves. He kissed Robert on the head and lovingly pushed his hair behind his ears. Next he took of the intensivist's shirt and ripped it into three pieces. One he used to tie the man's arms together; the second he used for his feet and the third piece of cloth he used as a gag. Even though lots of people have sex in a hotel, he was sure that Chase's desperate screams would alert someone, and that would ruin his fun.

He looked at Chase's body. It was so perfect. The pale, slim form of his chest; his clavicles and the dent between them; his beautifully shaped arms. Vogler traced the man's right arm, reveling in the sensation. Next he moved to the left arm. Starting at the shoulder, he slowly made his way to the elbow, where he suddenly stopped. There were numerous cuts on his boy's arm. Why did he do this to himself, ruin the perfection? Vogler felt angry. No one had the right to harm his little angel. Not even the angel himself. He made a fist and drove it into Chase's chest with quite some force. There was no reaction, but a flopping of the younger man's limbs.

Slightly regretting that display of violence, Vogler took of his shoes and his jacket and laid down on the bed, besides his victim. He started caressing the younger man, stroking his face, chest, arms and upper legs. Deciding that the intensivist's jeans were in the way, he made to take them off. However, his own improvised ropes were in the way and there was no way that he could untie them fast. He got up and took a pair of scissors from his bag. Next he took Chase's pants off by cutting them open. He tossed them into the bin without a second thought and returned to stroking the young doctor.

Softly, he placed his large hand on the younger man's hair. Moving it downwards, he felt the top of the Aussie's ear, the slight stubble on his jaw, his neck, his ribs, his abdomen and finally his groin, where Vogler stayed his hand and laid still. Chase twitched, but didn't wake up. The older man placed a leg on each side of the other's body and rested himself on top of him, his large body completely covering the small frame of his victim. This new position they were in forced the air out of the Aussies's lungs and since his mouth was covered with a part of his shirt, breathing became difficult. Besides that, the weight of the man on top of him was making his arms, that were tied around his back, very uncomfortable. After a while, he began stirring and finally he opened his eyes again.

Every breath was giving him just too little air. In the beginning he didn't even notice, but after a while he'd used op all the excess air in his lungs and was still getting too little in return. He tried breathing deeper, but for some reason he couldn't get his chest to expand, leaving him more breathless with every try. He started heaving and choking and his consciousness returned to him in full. He opened his eyes and tried to get up but found his way blocked by an all too familiar face: Vogler. How did he get here? And why was that man so close to him? For a moment, Chase hoped that it was all a bad dream and he tried to wake up from it. In vain.

Concluding that it wasn't a dream after all, the blond doctor refocused on the question of how he got here and why that man was so close to him. Those questions were forced from his mind, when he felt the former chairman caress his waist and he went into a full blown panic when he noticed his clothes were gone, thrashing violently but still contained by Vogler's weight pressing him down. The memories all came back to him and he tried to get away from the bed, but was restricted by his tied up limbs. He started hyperventilating and a single tear rolled down his cheek. A tear that the older man gently kissed away.

Revolted, Chase made another desperate attempt at getting away by kneeing his kidnapper in the groin. Vogler hissed with the pain and hit Chase in the face again, before turning him around to prevent a second action like that. When he felt the other's beefy hands on his backside, Chase buried his head in the pillow and tried to ignore everything that was happening. He was completely detached and couldn't feel his body anymore. His mind was in a safe place, a place on the other side of the globe and in a time long past. The only part of now he noticed was the former chairman's heavy breathing, which turned to grunting and moaning as time passed. He had no idea how long it was taking, all he did was squeeze his eyes shut. And when Vogler turned him around again, he stared at the ceiling, unseeingly. Numb.

The doors of the elevator opened and Wilson followed Joanne out of it. The room they were looking for was easily found and since they had the key, it would also be very easy to get in.

"You can wait over at the elevator, if you don't mind." Wilson whispered and Joanne did as he said. The oncologist decided to first knock on the door, before trying the key. He didn't know what he wanted to achieve with that. Maybe it would get Vogler away from Chase and whatever he was doing to the kid. He walked towards room 2411, but after taking three steps, his phone started ringing. Annoyed, he hung up immediately. However, two steps later, the same number called him again. And when he was in front of the door to Vogler's hotel room, they rung again. Deciding he couldn't use the interruption now, Wilson turned his phone off and knocked on the door. No one opened, so he knocked again.

"Could you please open the door, sir?" He heard some blundering, someone walking across the room and a lock being turned. The door was opened slightly.

"James? What are you doing here?" Vogler spoke.

"I think I should ask you that question." Wilson spoke.

"What do you mean?" Voglers eyes shifted nervously around the hallway, looking for potential threats. "I'm here for a conference. "

"And you got yourself a hooker? Or who's blond hair is that?" Wilson cringed. That was a very House-ish remark to make, and given the circumstances, probably not the best way of action.

Vogler was clearly getting uncomfortable. "It's none of your business." He spoke, closing the door, locking it and walking away. Of course, Wilson had expected this to happen and he almost immediately used the key to unlock it again and enter the room to see if Chase was there. On the opening of the door, Vogler looked around and walked back angrily. Wilson, being prepared, managed to strike the chairman with his fist, but that wasn't enough to take him out. It was merely enough to advance further into the room and get a clear view on the bed. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. They were right, Chase was here. But the state House's youngest fellow was in, was appalling. The blond was lying on the large bed, gagged and nude. His hands and his feet were bound and at an angle that must be very uncomfortable. But what frightened the oncologist the most, was the empty stare that was directed at the ceiling. He'd just punched the man keeping the Aussie captive, and said Aussie hadn't even blinked. Wilson sighed. How were they ever going to make things right again?

When the oncologist caught sight of the young, blond doctor, he hesitated for a moment, giving Vogler the opportunity to strike back. And strike back he did. A huge blow to the head and another punch in the stomach left James Wilson crumpled on the floor, a trickle of blood on his chin.

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**Sorry for the huge cliff-hanger. But I promise, I'm not going to kill everyone. I think. MUHAHAHAHAHA. Hope you guys "liked" it. And I love hearing from you.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hi sweet readers. I'm sorry for making you wait. I'd sort of forgotten the horrible cliffhanger I left you with. Sorry. All credit for this chapter goes to my lovely reviewers, without whom I hadn't even started writing another chapter. *Hands all reviewers cookies*. You guys got me writing when I had no time and no intention to. Thanks :).**

**Now, let's not torture you any longer: the new chapter. I hope you like it!**

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Taking a few seconds to oversee the situation, the former chairman decided it would be foolish to stay here any longer. Curse that oncologist for ruining what could have been a perfect night. Regretfully he looked at the still figure of the Australian, lying on the bed naked, his skin gleaming in the soft lights. He took a breath, got dressed and turned around, walking out of the room in thought. There would be consequences for this night. First of all, he would have to explain why he wasn't going to show up at the conference tomorrow. Maybe Frank could come up with a clever idea. And what was more: how did they find him? He wasn't in New Jersey. Robert wasn't supposed to be in New York. Their meeting was purely coincidental. Nobody knew of what had happened between him and Robert in the past. So why had an oncologist from a hospital where he'd worked for a few weeks; an oncologist that he'd fired, found out that he'd kidnapped the young intensivist?

Lost in thoughts, he made his way towards the elevator, where a young woman was waiting.

"Hello." He said politely, trying not to call any attention to himself. The woman looked at him with an angry stare. Did she know something? And her face was familiar too. That didn't make any sense. He looked at her again, holding his head slightly askew.

"You bastard!" She yelled all of a sudden, and she attacked him. He was completely surprised and since she was a policewoman she had a better fighting strategy and more strength than the knocked out oncologist not 50 meters away. Still, Vogler was very large. He could take more damage, and his punches did more damage. She lasted a few minutes, but then he overpowered her and kicked her to the floor. He stepped over her and pressed the elevator button, wishing for it to hurry up.

Just as the elevator chimed and the doors slid open, Vogler felt an incredible blow on the back of his head. Whatever it was, shattered and a splash of liquid drenched his coat. The blow made him fall to his knees. He blacked out and fell, face forward, to the ground, revealing a very dizzy-looking Wilson standing behind him, holding what appeared to be a broken champagne bottle. "You bloody bastard!" Wilson spoke and he kicked Vogler in the stomach before falling to the floor himself.

It had taken a few moments to park the car in a busy New York. It was a good thing that this hotel had a parking lot, Pete mused as he locked the doors and walked towards the hotel's entrance. New York must be a hell for drivers. There was a reason that he and his wife hadn't come here by car. He stepped on the threshold and looked at the hotel's interior appreciatively. It was really overly luxurious. Still, he was glad that Joanne and he were staying at something a bit more reasonable. Crystal chandeliers and receptionists wearing brand name clothing was not something he could justify for himself. It was a complete waste of money and it would really feel unfair towards people who had less means.

Pete coughed to get the receptionist's attention, but it had no result. He debated whether or not to go into a real coughing fit, but after remembering the guards everywhere he decided against it. "Sorry?"

She looked up.

"Could you tell me where my wife went? The tall one with the dark blond hair?"

"Oh, yes. The cop?"

He nodded yes.

"She went upstairs with that brown-haired man. 24th floor, you'll find them." She said and immediately returned her attention to her magazine. Pete raised an eyebrow. It was surprising that a woman rude as this was allowed to work here. People paid for slimy gits that did everything you wanted them to and kissed your ass whilst doing it. He shook his head and walked towards the elevators. One of them opened at once, so he got in and pressed the correct button. Whilst he was going up, he considered the fact that Joanne had accompanied the man, James, upstairs. He had been very clear that they were to stay out of this. He knew his wife to be curious, a bit nosy at times, but that she would follow him against his explicit wishes was not something he'd expected. When the elevator chimed, he shrugged it off and waited for the doors to open.

The sight that greeted his eyes first reminded him of a bad horror movie. He saw his wife lying sprawled on the floor. A large, fat man was waiting for the elevator, before suddenly collapsing. Behind him was James, holding a broken champagne bottle. A few seconds later he, too, collapsed. Pete stood frozen for a while, but the elevator doors closing called him to his senses. He pressed the open-button and stepped out of the elevator, walking towards his wife first of all.

"Joanne? Joanne!" He tried to catch her attention, but she merely moaned and stirred feebly. He grabbed his phone and called 911 for an ambulance. Four ambulances for that matter. He quickly positioned all three unconscious people near the elevator in the recovery position, making sure that their airways were clear and thus preventing suffocation. Next he went searching for the young man they'd been trying to find in the first place. He quickly crossed the hallway in search for doors that were ajar and stumbled upon room 2411. He entered it carefully, trying not to scare anyone and trying to prevent drawing any attention from a possible accomplice. However, there was no one there. No one but the tied up, naked, young man on the bed.

"Don't worry, I'm a policeman." He spoke when a frightened gaze pierced him. "My name is Pete Stephens. I'm here to help you." Swiftly he reached for his pen knife and cut the ropes restraining the blond man. Only after freeing him, Pete noticed it was Chase's clothes that he'd just cut through. He kept them as evidence and got the Hotel's bathrobe from the luxurious bathroom. He handed it to Chase and when the other didn't react, he helped him putting it on.

"Robert? I'm going to check on my friends near the elevator. Is that OK? I promise to lock the door behind me."

Chase didn't react, so Pete did as he'd told and walked over to the elevator. There the paramedics had just arrived.

"Are you mister Stephens?" One of them asked.

"Yes I am."

"So who is the culprit?"

Pete pointed towards Vogler and the two policemen cuffed him to the gurney. They accompanied him in the elevator. The paramedics then moved to the two other unconscious people.

"Who is this?" the same man asked him.

"My wife, Joanne Stephens. The other man is James. I don't know his last name, though. I can see if he has any identification document on him, but I suppose you can do that at the hospital?"

"So where is the fourth victim?"

"In room 2411, you can follow me." He walked them to the room and opened it, but motioned for the paramedics to wait for a bit. "I'll talk to him for a bit, first. Can you wait in the hallway?" He left them behind and slowly approached Chase.

"Robert? I'm back. My friends are OK now."

There was no reaction.

"Is it ok if I take you to the hospital? There are some paramedics that will drive us there. Then, a doctor can look after you."

"I'm a doctor. I don't need any help." Chase's voice sounded hoarse and dull.

"I think you do, you know. But I can't force you if you don't want help. You could accompany your friend to the hospital, though."

Chase looked confused. "My friend? Who?"

"James. He came here to save you, you know."

The look in Chase's eyes shifted from confused to uncomfortable to determined. "All right. I'll come with you. It's the least I can do." He tried to get up, but immediately collapsed again. Luckily, Pete was there to catch him.

"They have a gurney for you, if you want." He suggested.

The blond man nodded reluctantly.

"Guys. You can come in." Pete called out. The door opened and the two leftover paramedics entered the hotel room. Behind them followed a final policeman, for collecting evidence. The two men supported Chase whilst he slowly walked out of the room, leaning on them heavily. Pete followed them, after handing the destroyed clothes to the policeman that stayed in the room. On the hallway, the paramedics helped the Australian onto the gurney and they rolled him towards the elevator. Downstairs, they rolled him past the receptionist, who was eyeing them curiously, and out of the hotel, into the ambulance. Finally they took of to the hospital. The soft zooming of the van and the emotional exhaustion quickly took their toll, and halfway the journey, Chase's eyes fluttered shut and he drifted off into a light sleep.

It was dark. Why was it so dark? He remembered lights. Not a lot of them, but at least he could see something. He could hear though. There was a steady beeping that really annoyed him, the soft rumble of people conversing quietly and his own breathing. He listened to the air rushing in and out of his lungs for a while. As the time passed, he began to think rationally more and more until, at a certain point, he decided he should probably open his eyes. Immediately he gave rise to that thought and opened is eyes, only to squeeze them shut after a split-second. The blaring lights were hurting his eyes.

He frowned. The ceiling at his place wasn't mint green. And he was quite certain that the lights were no fluorescent tubes. As he pondered over this mystery, a voice spoke to him.

"Are you awake, sir?"

He grumbled and uttered an annoyed confirmation.

"Yes, I thought so. I saw you open your eyes. Do you know where you are?"

"Well, as far as I know, there are no women in my apartment. So unless you're a working girl, I really have no idea. Did I drink too much?" He opened his eyes and noticed a nurse standing by his bedside. She was approximately fifty years old and slightly overweight: clearly not a prostitute. "Too bad. I really liked that option."

She snorted. "Well, Mr. House, you had an accident on the highway. You crashed your motorcycle over some debris that was on the asphalt." She paused for a moment, but continued when he didn't react. "You broke your leg, your arm and three ribs. You can go home today, after you recover from the anesthetic. There is a pin in your arm and you'll need to use a wheelchair for the coming six weeks. Do you have anyone who can look after you?"

Damn. He crashed his bike. He couldn't really remember, though. Probably hit his head on the concrete. And these injuries were a bother too. As if his cane didn't incapacitate him enough already. But he figured it could have been much worse. The mortality rate for motorists was pretty high after all.

"I guess. Is my phone still working?" He asked, intending to call Wilson.

"Nu-uh." She replied. "It got crushed by you, a bike and some 90 mph tarmac."

He nodded. That was kind of predictable really. "Is there a phone around here somewhere?"

"Yes, there is one in your room. But you can sleep a bit, first. We'll move you there when you're fully awake."

"Thanks, I guess." House said. He tried to turn over, but was restrained by the casts on his arm, leg and chest. He sighed and mumbled some profanities, but soon closed his eyes and dazed off.

After waking up and falling asleep again for a few times, the nurse, who by the looks of her name tag was called Miriam, told him he'd be moved to a private room. She and some other nurse pushed his bed down the corridor and into an elevator. They went up to another floor and made for the short admissions wing. As soon as House was installed, he asked Miriam for a phone. She indicated the machine on his nightstand. After telling him to call if he needed anything, the nurses left him.

He took the phone and entered Wilson's phone number. He only knew two numbers by heart: Wilson's and the escort agency's. What else could he need? The phone rang two times and then the connection was broken. Annoyed, the brilliant diagnostician tried again, only to end up with the same result. He tried a third time and a fourth, but after the third call, Wilson had apparently turned his phone off. Frustrated he hung up the phone too and tried to catch some more sleep so they would discharge him in the morning.

That morning was a beautiful morning. It was cold, but the sun was shining and the sky was blue. Lisa Cuddy was in a good mood. She'd had a nice evening, a good night's sleep and this beautiful morning. She walked the final meters to the hospital and her office, greeting many doctors and nurses on the way in. Today she was planning to catch up on some billing and she had a seminar to plan. She especially looked forward to that last part, so she promised herself that she could work on it the whole day after she'd finish the billing. Sitting down in her office, she turned on the radio softly. She liked to listen to music whilst doing the boring jobs. The dean of medicine took out a large stash of paper forms and began rifling through them. After fifteen minutes of preparation, she began the real work. Even though it was boring, it didn't dampen her spirit. She was humming along to the tunes on the radio and the sun shining through her windows felt pleasant on her skin. She felt like nothing could ruin her day. How mistaken she was.

Not even thirty minutes after she'd really started working, a distraught Cameron was knocking on her door. Cuddy sighed. "It shouldn't even surprise me he gets into trouble so early in the day", she spoke to herself and motioned for Cameron to come in. "What's he done now?"

"He's not here. And neither are Dr. Wilson and Chase." The immunologist looked really worried.

"Isn't House an hour late on average?" Cuddy retorted. Truth be told, it was odd that the oncologist and House's fellow weren't there, but they could just be ill. In fact, she'd had a voicemail from Chase telling her exactly that. "Chase called in sick, by the way."

"But I tried his phone and it's turned off."

"And you went to see if doctor Wilson knew where he was." Cuddy stated.

"Yeah." Cameron admitted. "Maybe you could call him? Maybe he knows where House is?" Her face looked more like a kicked puppy by the second.

Cuddy sighed and caved. "Fine, I'll try to reach him. Do you guys have a case?"

Cameron shook her head.

"You can work in the clinic then. I'll contact you when I find out more." Cuddy waved Cameron off and searched her cell phone. She searched for House's number first, but as Cameron said, she couldn't reach him. Next she tried Wilson's, but she got the voice mail. Annoyed she left a message. "James, it's Lisa. Where are you? People in the hospital need you. Call me back."

In a hospital in New York, James Wilson slowly woke up. After mulling over the previous day and calling the nurse for some aspirin to fix a deadly headache, he checked out the time. It was well after eleven. And a weekday on top of that. He immediately grabbed his phone to call Cuddy and tell her he wasn't able to come to the hospital. He flipped his phone open and turned it on, where a message telling him he had six new voice mail messages waiting for him greeted his eyes. He sighed. Apparently Cuddy had noticed his absence. Just as he was about to listen to the voice mails, his phone rang again.

"Wilson."

"It's Lisa. Where the hell are you?"

The oncologist swallowed. They were in trouble.

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**I swear that something is wrong with the word count. It gives me some 60 words more than my word editor gives me. Oh well, whatever. Please leave a message after clicking the review button. Yes, there it is :P. If you want a cookie: google it. I bet there's tasty pictures.**


	18. Chapter 18

** So I haven't been around forever and I'm really sorry for that. I lost interest in fanfiction (I'm not abandoning the story, btw). But a few days ago, a friend of mine, who _never_ updates, updated a new chapter. At that point I felt like I really ought to update myself. And below, you find the result. I hope you like it. **

**Thank you all for sticking with me for so long. Extra kudos for all my reviewers: you're the best.**

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"Hi, Lisa."

"Where?" She demanded. He could imagine her standing in her office, hands on her hips, glaring at him with that glare she used on House so often.

"Ehm… I'm ill?" He tried.

"I bet you are. And you, House and Chase happen to be ill at the same time?" She laughed incredulously. "Try again, James".

He was silent for a moment and finally sighed. "Alright. We had a movie night last night. Kung-fu movies. And we might have had a couple too many beers…." This excuse was more credible, if not for the fact that House was wrapped in casts and Wilson himself had a small cut on his head from where Vogler had struck him. But he figured they'd deal with it when the time came. If Cuddy would believe it right now, of course.

In Princeton, Cuddy sat down in her chair and repeatedly pushed herself from the left to the right and back. The story Wilson had just told her was credible, but there was something in the way he said it that made all the alarm bells go off. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't believe him, so she decided to sneak in some tricky questions. "Movie night. Nice." She started, "so, it was just you and House? Chase is genuinely ill?"

A short silence. "Yes"

Good. She thought. If Chase _had_ been with them yesterday, she'd trick Wilson into admitting it. "And what movies did you watch?"

"Well… ehm. Kung fu panda. And… The Karate Kid, Once upon a time in China, Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon."

"Is Kung fu panda any good?" Cuddy asked. "What is it about?"

"Well, it's a panda who learns kung fu."

"Really? I didn't quite expect that." The dean of medicine snorted.

"In the beginning he helps his dad in a noodles restaurant and he's really bad at kung fu. But then an evil -"

"Yeah, yeah. Never mind. I'll rent it someday. When can I expect you guys back?"

"Not right now, I'm thinking. Maybe late afternoon?" He anticipated. They would have to get House dismissed, Chase locked away somewhere safely, where he couldn't harm himself and all the way back to Princeton.

"All three of you? Are you so drunk you cannot come in?"

Wilson didn't reply.

"I expected this from House, but not from you. And especially not from Chase, given his history."

"With his mum drinking herself to death?" Wilson asked. "House told me. Didn't notice any holding back, though."

Cuddy made a mental ka-ching move. There it was: Chase had been there. Wherever there was. "Who was holding back on what?" she asked sweetly.

"Chase. On the drinking. You just ask- oh, damn."

"I'm waiting."

"Listen, Lisa. We really haven't been up to anything bad. Things just happened and now we're landed in a hospital in New York. Could you please…" Wilson swallowed. "It's a long story and it's not a nice one. I'd really prefer to talk to you face to face, but now that we're not there, I guess you want an explanation."

Every minute Cuddy was getting more nervous. James sounded desperate, and if a man who told people they were dying on a daily basis was desperate, really bad things were going on. The only thing keeping her calm was the fact that Wilson had mentioned being able to be back late afternoon. That meant that no one was about to die. "All right, James. You can tell me later. I just need an excuse. Cameron has been bugging me all morning. And," she hesitated, "are you three all right?"

The oncologist rubbed his face with one hand and contemplated for a moment. "I'm fine. Chase and House are a mess. But we'll sort it out, I hope. Tell Cameron… tell her Chase is ill. He might be staying home for some time. And tell her House had an accident on his motorbike. He'll probably be in tomorrow. I'm taking care of him."

"That last one is true, isn't it?"

"Yeah" Wilson grunted.

"O my. How bad is it?"

"Nothing that won't heal. He broke a couple of bones, that's all. Will be in a wheelchair for some time, but everything will be alright. They will probably notice the chair, though. That's why I'm telling you."

"And what about Chase?"

"I don't know." Wilson sighed. "I really don't know what to do, Lisa."

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Quite some time had passed since he woke up this morning. He could tell by the shadows that were cast by the sun, they moved and gradually grew shorter. He wondered why no one had bothered to close the windows, but found that he was actually rather pleased nobody did: waking up relatively early gave him time to mull everything over. He thought of what had happened –but only in abstract terms and as little as possible-, he thought of what was going to happen and he tried to find the best possible course of action. Firstly, he needed to sort out his priorities. What did he desire more: time to process everything that had happened or privacy? There was a big chance that at least Cuddy would find out what had happened -to a certain extend of course- since the three of them weren't showing up for work today. That sucked, but also gave him some options. Cuddy wasn't one to immediately tell the entire hospital what was going on, she might accept it if he pretended to –say- have the flu and not show up for a week or two.

Relatively pleased with this idea, he moved on to the next. How was he supposed to behave towards Wilson and House, and how were they going to behave towards him? Wilson probably wouldn't be much of a problem: Chase rarely ever saw him. On those occasions, he'd just have to leave the interaction to a minimum. Besides, Wilson was a decent person. He would understand that Chase didn't feel like talking about all this with anyone. House, however, was a completely different story. The last time Chase didn't want House involved in his business, he'd received full force bullying from his boss, who dragged all that he didn't want to see (i.e. Rowan Chase: his dad) in his face. Right now, that was really the opposite from what he wanted and needed. Perhaps he could ask Wilson to talk to House about this. They were friends. House should really listen to Wilson at some point. Yes, yes he'd do that. And if everyone found out, he could always run away. He'd done it before and it worked. Well, sort of. He'd go somewhere they'd not expect, like Sweden, Norway or maybe Russia. He'd fit in there, if he learnt the language. Plus, no one would expect him to go there: he knew some Czech, so they'd consider the Czech Republic. He knew some Japanese, but he'd never fit in there. Besides, House knew he spoke some Japanese: it was in his resume. Of course, Canada and the United Kingdom or Ireland were a little too obvious. Yes, it was going to work out, he decided.  
Chase yawned. This thinking things over was tiring him and he wished he'd brought a book to get his mind off things. Actually, he recalled having a book with him when he'd hopped on the train to New York. He couldn't remember when he lost it, but he cursed himself for it. The Lord of the Rings was one of his all-time favorites and the edition of the book he'd bought was very beautiful and luxurious. Maybe he could ask a nurse if they'd seen it. And if he did, he could ask for some breakfast too: he was starving. He pressed the alarm button and was delighted when a nurse came in and not only told him she could arrange some breakfast but also that his backpack was behind his bed and handed him his book.

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A young nurse, approximately twenty years old came walking from the patient's room. Her face was cast down, her shoulders slumped and Wilson could see a tear rolling down her cheek. He was pretty sure this was the right room. In Princeton, the nurses were used to House, but here in New York they hadn't seen him before. Surely, most of the doctors would have known his name –he was pretty famous after all- but that would not warn the nurses for his behavior.

He didn't bother knocking but just slid the door open and pulled an angry face. "Seriously House, was that really necessary?"

"Was what necessary?" a very feminine voice sounded. In the bed was a fifty-something year old woman who was being helped by a male nurse. Wilson blushed, stammered an apology and turned to leave the room until he heard the two people in the room were laughing. When he walked back, he saw that the male nurse was actually House, whereas the patient really was a nurse. They high-fived each other. Wilson sighed. Leave it to House to find the nurse willing to participate in all these pranks.

The woman got out of bed, helped House in the bed again and walked over to shake Wilson's hand. "I'm Miriam"

"James Wilson. So what did you two do to make that poor girl cry?"

"Oh, she was part of the plan" Miriam grinned, making Wilson sigh is desperation.

"House, can we make fun of me some other time. There are really other things going on now."

"Aw, Jimmy. Please? I just can't hold it back." House whined, but he sobered up immediately. "Thanks Miriam. So I'm allowed to leave now?"

She nodded. "I'll get you a chair. Give me a moment."

"Thanks" Wilson said, when Miriam had left the room. "Cuddy called. Seven times."

"Hm. And what did you tell her?"

"I told her that you crashed your bike. And I told her Chase was unwell, but that I didn't want to discuss it by telephone."

"Okay." House was very composed but Wilson could clearly see his friend was trying to find a solution that wasn't there. They were silent for a while, but at a certain moment, House broke that silence. "So what are we going to do with him?"

Wilson closed his eyes for a second. "I don't know, Greg. I suppose we should go home first. We should be able to go to work tomorrow. Chase probably shouldn't, but I don't want to leave him alone."

"I could set up an appointment with his shrink?" House almost asked.

"He's seeing a shrink?" Wilson managed to sound surprised. "Since when?"

"Since I made him see one, after walking in on him hurting himself. He has only had one appointment, though."

"Well, that's good I suppose. At least he'll not be talking to a complete stranger."

"Hm."

"Still, that doesn't solve the problem where Chase would be in your apartment alone. I don't trust him alone. Especially since we know he's self-harmed before."

"We could just chuck him in solitary confinement. Nice padded walls and a cardboard toilet don't provide him with the means to off himself."

"No." Wilson spoke immediately "I doubt taking even more control out of his hands would be a good thing for him now. Isn't there someone we can arrange to baby-sit him?"

"Well, I don't know anyone apart from my poker friends. Unless you want Cameron or Foreman to do it."

"No. I guess not. But we _could_ ask Cuddy. She will find out what is going on anyway. Plus, her job doesn't require her to be in the hospital at all time: we have a telephone too."

The door opened and a wheelchair rode in, followed by Miriam who beamed at the two doctors. "Now, I think I can safely assume that you doctors know how to get someone in a wheelchair?" She teased.

"He's been in a chair before." Wilson reassured her.

"But that time I was allowed to wheel myself around." House pouted.

"That's why you'll get an electrical when you get back to Princeton." She smirked. "This one is only for getting you to Dr. Wilson's car."

House made a few kung-fu moves with the arm that wasn't in a cast. "Wicked!" Wilson rolled his eyes and Miriam laughed whilst helping House into the chair and pushing him out of the room.

* * *

The radio was on really loud. It was on the classical channel, so the violins and pianos were in overdrive. Chase ignored them. He'd never really liked classical music. It was too pompous. Instrumental music could be nice, but most of the opera and old compositions weren't really his thing. Thus, he just stared out of the window. Which was boring. He saw the highway and many cars cruising it. He wondered where they were all going: it wasn't actually rush hour. He wondered where _they_ were going. To the hospital, straight back to work? To House's place?

On the back seat House was playing a one-handed piano solo. His second hand tried to play too, but didn't get past wriggling the fingers faintly. His eyes were glazed over by the pain meds. They must have given him quite a lot: House was obviously used to being on pain medication. Wilson was next to him on the driver's seat. He liked that song, by Sniff 'n' the Tears. Wilson looked tired and a bit scary, with that gash on his face. If Chase squinted, the oncologist almost looked like a zombie. He snickered and saw House and Wilson looking at one another immediately. That sobered him up so he turned to look out the window again.

Soon, they were back in New Jersey again and they drove towards House's place. Wilson parked the car and half turned around to talk to House. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well, we could get to work. Cuddy knows I'm like a cast mummy, right?"

"I know, but what about him?" Wilson said, indicating Chase with a nod of his head. Chase was annoyed by Wilson ignoring him, but when he thought of the reason he didn't feel at all inclined to join in on the conversation. He just felt like lying in his bed, head under the covers. The young, blond doctor balled his hands with all his strength. Thankfully, this time he'd cut his nails so his palms stayed intact.

House eyed his youngest duckling. "I suppose I could use a few days' rest. But how are you getting me inside?"

"I'll phone Cuddy. She'll send some EMTs or nurses. And a chair, if you want one?"

"Sure," House spoke, so his friend made the call. Some fifteen minutes later, a few EMTs appeared, rushing to help House up the stairs, into his apartment. They sat him down on the couch, whereas Chase sat on the chair, curled up with his book again. Wilson thanked the EMTs and offered them some coffee, but they declined and left as quickly as they came. Wilson sighed and dropped on the couch next to House, who'd turned on the television. It felt weird to be doing this in the early afternoon.

Soon, House had fallen asleep and Wilson had turned off the TV, so Chase could read in silence. He'd received a quiet thanks, no eye-contact. That was- until he told Chase that Cuddy would be coming over that evening to discuss what their plan of action was. Even though he'd thought it through, the upcoming confrontation with Cuddy gave him a feeling of dread in his stomach. He cast his eyes up, to glare at Wilson, who gave him an apologetic shrug. Chase tried to get back to reading, but every two sentences his thoughts drifted to Cuddy coming over and to what he was going to have to tell her. He didn't allow his mind to make a trip to what had happened in New York. After thirteen tries he just gave up. He slammed the book shut, gently put it down on the table and stood up. "Can I sleep in your bunk? The couch is taken."

"Sure. I can get you clean sheets if you want?" Wilson asked and when Chase nodded he stood up to get him a few dark blue ones. Chase took them from him and marched out to make the bunk. After he was done, he changed into his pajamas and crawled underneath the sheets, squeezing his eyes shut until he fell asleep.

Wilson sighed, feeling very alone.

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** So, this document editor looks really weird compared to what it was like before (I see the HTML codes, and not the layout as you should see it). Does this happen to any of you? Well, I hope you liked the chapter. Reviews would make my day :). Regards. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Dearest readers,  
I am so sorry to keep you waiting for so long. I have no excuses, I should have updated earlier. I just couldn't get myself to write. I'm sorry. That being said, thank you for visiting and reading yet another chapter of this story. I can now reveal that we are nearing the end. I can also promise that I will publish the end fairly soon. I can only hope that you have a tiny bit of patience left.  
Now, on with the story.  
**

* * *

A loud sound penetrated his dreams. He had the feeling that he should know it; react to it somehow. Someone was expecting him, but he was unable to decide what to do so he turned around. After a few moments, the same sound reached his ears again. Annoyed, he made to cover his ears with his hands, but he yelled out when one of them hit something hard and metallic. His eyes snapped open just in time to see the lamp next to his chair falling to the floor, making another loud noise, at the same time the doorbell was rung. Again. He shook his hand a few times to make the pain go away and jumped up to get the door.

"James", Cuddy spoke curtly, without looking up.

Wilson stifled a yawn. "Oh. Hi Lisa. Come in." He stepped out of the way and closed the door behind her when she had walked in. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No thanks. Where is everyone?" She spoke, but when they walked into the living room and noticed House sleeping on the couch she amended the question. "Where is Chase?"

"Asleep." Wilson spoke shortly. "We should let him sleep. And House too. Sleep helps with the healing."

Cuddy nodded. "Maybe we could sit in the kitchen?"

The two doctors walked to the kitchen, where Wilson made himself a cup of coffee, and sat down around the dining table. They looked at one another in silence for a few moments, not knowing where to start, but after a few minutes, Wilson coughed and spoke up. "So…".

Cuddy cut in. "Are you going to tell me what is going on?"

"I'm not sure if I should. I don't suppose he wants you to know."

_O god_, Cuddy thought. "Well I suppose that tells me enough. There are only a few things that would shame him to such extent. Guilt for doing something bad and guilt for undergoing something bad. And since you are not willing to tell me, I'm guessing it is the second." Wilson's attitude was a silent confirmation for her theory and her shoulders slumped. "I was afraid it would be."

Wilson swallowed an tried to speak up. He coughed and took a sip of his coffee. "Do you remember the whole Vogler debacle?"

Cuddy closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. "Was he…" she was afraid to say the word "…you know… r-raped?"

Wilson looked away and nodded. "Possibly more than once."

A tear slid down her face. She made no move to wipe it off.

It was all settled. Cuddy would work from House's place for the mornings and House –who could only work half days- would be home when she left, so Chase didn't have to be alone. So the next morning, when House and Wilson left, Cuddy showed up.

"Where is Chase?" she asked them.

Wilson stopped and scratched his nose. "On the couch, reading his book. Make sure he eats something. He hasn't since yesterday. House wrote the phone number of his therapist down. It's next to the phone. And you can eat and drink anything you want."

"Thanks." She spoke softly.

"I'll bring him back by half past one." Wilson added, nodding towards House. He assured her to call if she needed anything and waved her off, pushing House's fancy new wheelchair towards the car.

Cuddy closed the door and hesitantly made her way towards the living room, not sure what she was going to find there. When she opened the door, however, a perfectly normal sight greeted her: Chase was indeed reading a book. He was curled up on the couch, legs covered by a fleece blanket, hair disheveled and completely immersed. She coughed to make her presence known. "Hi Chase."

The young Australian looked up and smiled slightly, a sight that startled her. "Hello doctor Cuddy." He spoke, in that typical southern accent of his.

It took Cuddy some time to compose herself. "I'm going to sit here at the table and do some hospital business. Ok?" She said.

Chase shrugged, "Sure." And continued reading. Cuddy was confused. How could he behave so normally? Remembering what Wilson had mentioned about Chase not eating, she figured that that would be his coping mechanism. But when she suggested that he eat something, he just shrugged and told her that House didn't own anything remotely edible, or else he'd done it already.

"Well, I have my break at one. Maybe we can go grocery shopping together."

For a moment Chase looked annoyed, only to change his expression to scared, resigned, heartbroken, angry and neutral over the course of a single minute. The dean of medicine was amazed at his control of emotions. "Sure" Chase confirmed again.

Cuddy smiled and motioned towards her laptop. "Have to work now though. If you need anything, you'll ask me, right?" When Chase nodded, she added "do you want my lunch for breakfast? I can buy new food if we're going out anyway." She pushed her handbag towards Chase and winked. "I'm fed up with the cafeteria lunches."

Grateful, Chase took out the banana and the granola bar and he swiftly devoured them. She smiled at him and turned her attention towards the computer. Hospital business was calling.

The day before, Cameron had walked up to Foreman to tell him about the motorcycle accident their boss had been in and to tell him that House would be confined to a wheelchair for the following weeks. Therefore, Foreman was prepared for what was coming. Or at least, he thought he was prepared. When Wilson wheeled House in, however, the sight shocked him. His boss was a big mess of casts and tapes in all colors of the rainbow. He had a massive graze on the side of his head and the neurologist could see bruises peeping from underneath the casts. House's attitude was unchanged though.

"We have a case. Guy on death row collapsed. We're going to cure him."

He wasn't even back for a minute and Foreman was already annoyed. "Why should we cure a guy on death row? Aren't there better ways to spend our time?"

"Good question. What makes a person deserving? Is a man who cheats on his wife more deserving than a man who kills his wife?" House replied.  
Foreman rolled his eyes. "Uh… yeah. Actually, he is."

"What about a child molester? Certainly not a good guy, but he didn't kill anybody. Maybe he can get antibiotics, but no MRIs. What about you? What medical care should you be denied for being a car thief? Tell you what: the two of you work out a list of what medical treatments a person loses based on the crime they committed. I'll review it when I get back." House replied, before ordering Cameron to do his two extra hours of clinic duty and wheeling himself out again, headed towards the prison that the patient was in.

Foreman sighed. The man was insufferable. But the most prestigious fellowship in the country was worth putting up with the crap he got every day.

Several hours later, House returned from the prison _with_ Clarence –the inmate that had fallen ill- all thanks to a warrant from Stacey. Foreman was sitting in the diagnostics lounge, entertaining himself by reading a medical journal. He swiftly looked up to see House rolling into his office and picking up a file from his chair, but he only started paying attention to what was happening when Cameron entered. She looked close to tears. House was unmoved though, and emerged in the lounge soon after. He rolled over towards the whiteboard and turned towards the younger doctor.

"Tachycardia, pulmonary oedema, likely suspects?"

Cameron had followed him in and she was outraged. "The Death Row guy? That's who you're working on instead of Cindy?"  
"God, I've got to learn not to beat around the bush. By dying, I meant no matter what we do. Very, very soon she is going to be dead. Is it still too subtle?" House tried to convince Cameron in a very rude and Housian way. However, she was not swayed. "I took an oath to do no harm."  
"Yeah, well, it's not like they make you sign it or anything."  
Cameron tried again. "We cure your patient, he goes back to Death Row. He goes back to Death Row, they kill him!" Secretly, Foreman agreed with her. What was the point of curing someone who would soon thereafter be killed anyway. Not that this Cindy girl had any use for a diagnostics team. Terminal cancer was terminal cancer.  
The diagnostician shot Cameron's objections down. "He stays here and we don't treat him, he dies, and I still don't treat Cindy Lou-Who."  
"Can we get on with this?" Foreman spoke, annoyed by this pointless conversation.  
"Yeah, I knew I could count on your help for your homie." House winked and turned back to the whiteboard.  
Foreman threw in some sarcasm. He had found long ago that going along with these jokes House made was the best way of making them stop. Any sign of discomfort or other effects would only lead to more. "Exactly, I'm black. I sympathize for guys who grew up in the city kept down by the man."  
"Makes sense to me."  
"It's a bunch of crap. You can't blame society for the fact that you chose to become a killer. The guy's probably a heroin addict: that explains the tachycardia, which caused the pulmonary oedema."  
"Okay, drugs it is. Test his hair, blood, urine, the works." And he sent the present ducklings out in order to carry out said tests.

It was five past one when her stomach rumbled. Cuddy looked at the clock and shut her computer down. "Hey Chase. You still feel up to it?" She asked cheerfully. She noticed how the same streak of emotions passed over his face, but he nodded and got up.

"I'll have to wear something more appropriate." He said, motioning towards his pyjamas. " Be right back." Five minutes later Cuddy and Chase left the house together, making their way towards the supermarket on the corner of the street.

"What do you need to get?" Cuddy asked.

"First of all I need breakfast. Cereal would be good, I suppose." Chase mused. "and some fruit –apples, kiwis, cherries if they have them. For lunch I want a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jelly. I'm not sure if House has stuff for dinner already. I should have taken a look." They walked into the store. "Maybe some chocolate or cookies to go with the tea."

"Well," said Cuddy, after scratching her ear, "I don't suppose House has ever cooked something more pretentious than a pizza. And he might even have burned that."

Chase grinned and they made their way through the supermarket slowly, taking an extensive amount of time to choose the tastiest cookies. Chase was all for chocolate chip, but Cuddy tried to convince him to bring the wafers. After ten minutes of debate, they decided to bring both. By the time they were heading back towards House's place, they were smiling and having a good time. Cuddy waved when they saw Wilson dropping House off, nudging Chase in the ribs and telling him to do the same, which he did.

"Can we go again, tomorrow?" He shyly asked.

She nodded, put a hand on his shoulder and left for the hospital –leaving him with House and Wilson.

"I'm not even gone for half a day and you are already taking Cuddy on a date!" House bellowed from his wheelchair. "I wooed her first, she's mine."

The day went by like any normal day. Chase found that keeping himself busy allowed him to function almost normally, so he spent his day doing the laundry, vacuuming the house, cleaning the bathroom and cooking dinner, which consisted of rice, chicken and broccoli. After dinner, House relocated to the couch in the living room and turned on the telly. "Wanna come watch General Hospital?" He asked Chase. "I'll make space on the couch if you get me a beer and some crisps."

Chase listened to the sound of conversation growing quieter as he distanced himself from the television set and made his way towards the fridge, where he grabbed a beer. "Where do you keep your crisps?" He yelled, and made his way to the leftmost top cabinet when he heard the answer. He walked back towards the living room, handed House his beer and set down with a bowl of crisps in his lap. Extremely hot Pringles were his favorites.

House was relieved that the day was almost over. It seemed that Chase had found a way to keep his mind of things, so time passed without major breakdowns. The way they were watching General Hospital together, seemed almost cosy. The central heating system was on, it was dark outside and they were sharing the couch and a bowl of crisps. He smiled and brought the beer can towards his mouth, relaxing his body as far as he was unobstructed by the casts and slings.

Moving his gaze slightly to the right, he watched his Australian fellow. The younger doctor seemed to be watching with an extreme intensity, as if to forget what was happening in the real world. House couldn't blame him. Fate had dealt the blond man a bad hand. His mother was dead, his father dying and neither of them had loved him properly, like parents should love their children. And now this. Life is really unfair, he thought.

Next to him, he felt Chase tensing his muscles. He looked around the room, but there was nothing there to frighten his new roommate. When he followed Chase's gaze, his eyes fell on the television set, where a young woman was in tears. He felt the dread building up in the pit of his stomach as he watched the soap opera unfold. Part of him wanted to drag Chase out of the room, but he knew that he shouldn't. Confrontations like these were bound to happen in the real world. Then she said it.

_I was raped._

House watched Chase slamming his eyes shut. His shoulders raised and his arms crossed, holding himself together. The Australian started rocking back and forth and his breathing came in hitches whilst he tried to suppress his emotions. House could almost see the level of pain his duckling was in rising steadily and he was just about to speak in an attempt to calm the young man, when Chase stood up and ran towards the door. House tried to get himself into his wheelchair to follow his fellow, but he fell to the floor. Cussing, he rolled over onto his back and tried to wheedle his cell phone out of his jeans pocket.

"Wilson, I need your help. Chase ran away."

* * *

**O noes :(. I hope you liked the chapter. I'm not begging for reviews, since I know I don't deserve them anymore. They are still very much welcome, of course ;). **

**Thanks for reading!  
**


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